


The Ribboned-Witch

by IShouldBe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Romance, Ron Weasley Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 59,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBe/pseuds/IShouldBe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why would I want your…fumblings?" There was a thread of steel in Granger's voice as she played along with Severus' game. "When I could have his expertise?" </p><p>SS/HG HEA...Always :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

I finish this and then it's on to _Innocent Shadows_. Honest. *shuffles feet*

* * *

 

Severus Snape stared into the smoke and amber of his fire whiskey. It caught in the soft glow of the flames flickering in the library hearth. He drew in a deep breath, the scents of the fire, the warmed alcohol and the hundreds of leather-bound books filling his senses.

He sank back into the firm padding of the wingback chair. Somewhere beyond the library walls the sounds of a party carried on. Voices, bursts of laughter, the crash of something big –no doubt Tonks proving her talent once more. He sat alone. Probably forgotten. After all, they didn't need his skills now. He was free.

And this would be his last time in this accursed house. Did he feel relief? Pleasure? Sadness? He took a sip of this fire whiskey and let the smooth texture cover his tongue, his sharp palate picking apart the hints of vanilla, nutmeg and the sharpened hints of liquorice as he swallowed. It burned down his gullet and he let out a long sigh. It surprised him that he felt very little. In a strange way he was almost numb.

Potter had urged the Mutt to break out the good stuff from the Black cellars to toast the final disbanding of the Order of the Phoenix. Their job was done. The last of the Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort were either remanded in Azkaban or their bodies awaited incineration somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry. The war was finally over. And he was still alive. Which was a surprise to everyone. Including him.

A cold draft wrapped around his legs and he shivered. He wouldn't have to winter in this place. He could hunt out his own home now with the threat of reprisals gone. The area around Spinner's End had been gentrified, which meant good money for little more than a neglected shithole. With his hoarded money from teaching –when had he had the time to spend it on anything?— and the inheritance as the last living Prince, Severus was set for a new life.

He smirked into his glass and thought about another sip. Of course, he'd not been idle. Even under the threat of Death Eaters, he'd revelled in the freedom he'd had from  _not_  being chained to two megalomaniacs.

His grin grew as he remembered Molly's shocked face, her eyebrows at her hairline and the splutters of contempt as the  _Prophet_  reported on the first of his 'affairs'. She'd even gone so far as to snatch the paper from the Granger girl's hand, vanishing the lurid article with a violent flick of her wand.

Molly had stood with her hands on her wide hips. "I expected more from you, Severus. There are impressionable young witches under this roof!"

Her shocked and affronted tone –acting as if her quidditch team of brats had sprung fully formed into the world— simply forced him to lift an eyebrow. His gaze had slid to Granger, her cheeks pink, her wild morning hair beyond control and her brown eyes not daring to meet his. He dropped his voice low, too aware of its sensual power. "Miss Granger has always been a most  _willing_  pupil."

Her gaze snapped to him, her eyes wide. And darkened.

Molly had exploded.

Back in the library, Severus took another sip and stared into the open hearth. He could've had her in that moment. He knew it. Locked Molly out of the kitchen and spread Granger across the table amongst the breakfast dishes. A delectable morning feast. But there was an innocence about the girl that held him back.

Severus swallowed and welcomed the sharp burn. Despite the youngest Weasley boy sniffing around –and his not-so-subtle boasting— Severus was certain Granger was still a virgin. A surprise, but at least no longer a dangerous one. The last thing he ever wanted in his bed was a woman he had to teach. His gut tightened and he pushed down old memories that threatened to resurface. No, Severus Snape did not do virgins.

The library door creaked open. "I said no, Ronald."

Severus winced. The virgin in question. His chair had its to back to the door, hiding him from those entering the library. If he stayed silent, they would no doubt leave. If they lingered, a single word from him would have them running.

"Mione…"

Severus almost rolled his eyes at the boy's petulant whine. How old was Weasley? Five?

"I told you—"

"It's not natural. Not the wizard way. We don't follow the same rules as muggles. We start young, explore, experiment. Don't you know not having sex stunts your magic?"

Severus almost snorted. Was he trying that old lie? They'd been living together in 12 Grimmauld Place for almost seven months and Weasley  _still_  hadn't wormed his way into Granger's bed? How inept was he?

" _Stunts my magic_?" Granger's voice had sharpened. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Ronald? You've already lied to everyone I know, claiming that you've taken me every way there is, so why don't you and your imagination go and get a room?" She huffed out a quick breath. "So, to be clear, no I will not sleep with you. No, I will not go down on you. And no, I will not "Please, Mione, just a hand job to take the edge off". Am I  _absolutely_  clear yet? Oh, and my name –for the final time— is  _Hermione_."

"Do you honestly think anyone else will ask?"

"Excuse me?"

There was an edge to her voice. Weasley had cut her. How did Granger see herself? She was small, shapely and there was a dark passion lurking under her innocence. One day, she'd be eminently fuckable. Severus knew that. She, obviously, did not.

"We've been stuck in this house for months. You were the only free hole." The room was silent, with only the crack and spit of the fire. Severus' jaw tightened and he placed his glass on the table. "You were nothing more than my attempt at a pity fuck,  _Mione_."

The little shit had gone too far. No one treated a virgin witch that way. He unwound himself from the chair. "Hermione."

They both froze, Weasley's face burning more red than his mop of hair. Granger's head dipped and her eyes squeezed shut. She was mortified. Severus placed a hand on her shoulder, stroking its slim length to the tangle of her hair. She twitched under the caress of his fingertips over the skin of her neck. Weasley blinked.

"You wondered who would ask?" Severus held the boy's gaze, seeing his eyes widen, disbelief and disgust firing through their paleness. Hermione's neck tilted, offering herself unconsciously to him. She sank back against him as if she were his completely. She really was a responsive little thing.

A dark smile lifted Severus' lips, before he dropped his mouth to her neck. She tasted of vanilla, sweet with a hint of darkness. His dick twitched. Severus' gaze never left Weasley's. "I did."

"You?  _She_?" Weasley gaped. "You had her first?  _You_?"

"Why would I want your…fumblings?" There was a thread of steel in Granger's voice as she played along with Severus' game. "When I could have  _his_  expertise?"

Weasley was visibly shaking in his anger. "Him? You'd sleep with him, over  _me_? You—"

Severus silenced the boy before more hate spewed from him. "You will desist in your pursuit of Miss Granger. It has been agreed." He wrapped his arm around her, brushing the underside of full breasts. He ignored the hard ache of his dick. "I do not share." He lifted an eyebrow. "Are we understood, Mr Weasley?"

Weasley opened his mouth, still caught in the spell.

"Nod, idiot boy."

He nodded and with a final glare at Granger, fled the room.

The witch slumped in his arms, her firm breasts pressing against his forearm. Severus cursed. How did he always manage to find his way into trouble?

As if suddenly realising where she was, Granger gasped and struggled free of his hold. He didn't fight her. She staggered away from him, her face scarlet. She caught her fingers in her hair and simply breathed. Severus let her find her courage. It happened a moment later as her shoulders straightened and her gaze moved to his. Almost. It hovered somewhere around his mouth and nose.

"Thank you, Professor." Her lips twitched a smile. "He has been…persistent."

"I agree, he's not the best choice for your first lover."

She blinked, her face –if possible— becoming even more red. "My…?"

Severus waved her to the other chair. He would have to have this conversation. One he'd had a number of times with the older girls in Slytherin. The old pureblood families still favoured The Virgin Agreement. Mostly in its minor form to ensure the girls' safety. However, he never thought he'd be having it with Granger. What in the name of Merlin had Minerva been doing to let her cubs get to this girl's age with no guidance? Whether the girl agreed with the path or not, she should've at least been made aware of her choices.

Granger moved forward on wooden legs and dropped into the heavy padding. He handed her a tumbler of firewhiskey and she curled her fingers around the glass, not yet taking a sip.

"I recommend Kingsley."

She stared at him. "The  _Minister_?" She wet her lips. "To…"

Severus resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was why he avoided virgins whenever he could. Particularly muggle-borns.  _Especially_  them. An articulate and clever girl was reduced to single words and half questions all in the name of sex. "Yes, to make the beast with two backs. Make love.  _Fuck_."

She stared into her glass. "I've never thought of him that way."

"He broke in Tonks. Fleur Weasley. Miss Clearwater. I've recommended him to a number of Slytherins. He has an excellent reputation."

Her chin lifted and anger flared in her brown eyes. "I am not a  _horse_."

"No, you are a young woman in need of guidance."

"And Minister Shacklebolt's well-known  _hobby_  is breaking in virgins?"

Her lack of knowledge of the wizarding world was showing. But then she'd spent most of her time in it trying simply to stay alive. She'd missed the nuances as her head had been stuck in one book after another. The shit, Weasley, had spoken some of the truth. They differed from muggles in their openness about sex. Of treating it as an art and finding a master or mentor to show them the way. Molly Weasley was a total hypocrite.

"His speciality. Future lovers of those Kingsley has…tutored are always appreciative. Sex is a skill, one that can be learned just the same as Charms or Potions." He lifted his glass and a smile touched his mouth. "Think of it as taking an advanced subject in which you are guaranteed an O."

She closed her eyes and for a moment, Severus thought he saw a flicker of pain cross her face, but it was gone. "Thank you for your candour, Professor."

He frowned. What was wrong with the witch? Was  _Hermione Granger_  turning down the opportunity to learn? "Weasley is imbecilic. But then that hardly comes as any surprise. Come to The Agreement with Kingsley and he will show you just how much of an idiot the boy is." He sipped his whiskey and the burn was raw and sharp. He rubbed his throat, wondering if the venom from the thrice-damned snake was making itself known in the winter air.

"It's…it's difficult to think of him that way." Her mouth twitched and she looked up at him. Firelight warmed her eyes. "And honestly, I don't need to rush into this."

She was waiting on someone else. Someone who hadn't asked her yet. It was there, unspoken. Who'd moved through her life? Potter. No, he was all over the Weasley girl like a pernicious rash. Lupin had formed agreements in the past, but he was now taken. One of the other Weasley's? Dear gods, not Percy. She'd get as much of an education out of him as she would being fucked by a gargoyle.

Or Sirius Black? He'd been sniffing around the girl all summer. He'd once been a pretty boy –getting any girl with the snap of his fingers— and putting in just as little effort into the art of sex. Severus had had his leftovers. And those witches tumbled from  _his_  bed in shock at what a dedicated and talented wizard could do…

"Who would you prefer as your first lover, Miss Granger?"

She swallowed, her fingers tightening around the glass until her knuckles showed white. She wet her lips. Her warm brown eyes held his. "You, sir."

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Professor Snape stared at her and she felt her heart catch in her throat. The word "Impossible" burst from him.

She blinked. "Why?"

"I do not sleep with virgins, Miss Granger."

How had she missed something so key to the magical world? Their own strange variant on sex education. Yet more Hogwarts didn't teach. How was she supposed to pick this up? By osmosis? But then sex had never been her first –hardly her  _fifth_ — concern. She'd spent her time mooning over Ron and had planned to sleep with him…at some point.

Even after Harry defeated Voldemort, the idea of Ron as her first was firmly in place. She wasn't bowled over by him by that stage, but she'd always felt that she should get sex out of the way. And Ron was there, and seemed to want to have sex with her, at least.

Then it all changed.

She took a sip of her whiskey and forced back a cough as it stung her mouth and gullet. Tears burned her eyes. "Are only certain wizards allowed?"

"It is my personal preference."

Golden light gilded him, warming his still-pale skin and shining in his curtain of black hair. He looked healthier, the lack of stress and Mrs Weasley packing enough food in him to choke a horse, had put meat back onto his bones, as her mother would've said. He was now all lithe elegance and immaculate dress. Not handsome…but she often found it difficult  _not_  to stare at him. Some days –especially when the  _Prophet_  delved into his practically debauched lifestyle— he was mesmerising.

"What would it take to convince you?"

For a moment, his lips lifted and a spark of humour lit his obsidian eyes. "Miss Granger—"

She'd never thought to ever have this conversation with him. But now she was and she would not give up her chance. Possibly the only one she had to have this man. She'd wanted him since Mrs Weasley had dragged away and vanished the first paper to delve into his 'disgusting summer hobby' as Ron's mother called it. And Snape had looked at her, with the promise of untold pleasure caught in his gaze and her flesh had throbbed. Actually  _throbbed_.

In that second, her lukewarm infatuation with Ron died.

"What would I have to do? For you to be my first lover. Tell me."

"I will not discuss this."

She sank back in her chair, the glass close to her mouth. The sharp scents of the alcohol burned her senses. "Ron will have exploded out there. He can't hold his own water, on a good day. You will now be known to be…fucking me." She lost her confidence on the word and felt herself redden. Shit.

Snape huffed out a laugh. "Hanged for a dragon as an egg? You think I should take on the job for which I am already damned?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's an idea."

He shook his head. "I stand by my recommendation."

She pressed her lips together, fighting the unexpected tightness of her chest. Her confidence shrivelled. She had thought that he'd at least found her attractive. He'd defended her to Ron when he said those awful words. Fuck, didn't she even rate a…a pity fuck from him?

Her glass clattered to the table and she stood. Her hands were fists. She didn't want Kingsley- _fucking_ -Shacklebolt. She wanted  _him_.

"Miss Granger…" He'd put his own glass down and rose from his chair.

Shit, he was too close. His body heat, his strong, physical presence, the scent of books, of herbs caught her and her heart clenched. She stepped back from him. "I understand, sir." Her throat was tight and her eyes burned. Damn him. She would  _not_  cry over and in front of bloody Severus Snape. "Few have obviously shown interest in me. You are not one. I totally understand."

"You do  _not_  understand." His hand cupped her face and she gasped, the rough warmth of his palm spiralling down into her growing panic. "Find me again. After."

She closed her eyes and a tear broke free. His thumb brushed it away. Was it not the wizarding way to share something as precious as her first time with someone she wanted as well as respected and admired? "I want you." She pressed her lips together and willed back the ache to her eyes. "Would it be so bad? Honestly? I'm a very quick learner. You'd hardly know…"

Snape drew in a deepened breath, his hand falling away. "Damn it, girl."

"A kiss, and if there's no spark, I won't bother you again." She frowned at him. "And no slacking."

"Bossy little minx."

She straightened her shoulders. "I have kissed before, Professor."

"Severus."

Her heart missed a beat. Did that mean he had accepted her offer? She ignored the quick hot rush of panic in her flesh. She had kissed before. A handful of times. Shit. Twice. She wanted to smack herself. How was she nineteen and so clueless?

He loomed over her and she forgot how to breathe. So close. Her mouth dried and the fierce need to wet her lips, to close the few inches that separated them beat in her blood. She could almost taste him, the firm line of his lips filling her vision.

She lifted her chin, her heart thudding. But he was still, frozen, a statue of tempting, unmoving flesh. "Please, Severus..."

"What do you require of me, witch?"

His whiskey-sweetened breath brushed over her lips and her hands fisted at her sides. Her pulse drummed. Did he want her to make the first move? To kiss him? She'd never... She'd always been the one to be kissed. The whole two times. Something unexpected, the reaction of a moment. Whether Victor snatching a breathless kiss in the shadows of the Great Hall. Or Ron's fierce liplock in middle of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Damn it, why did she think  _Severus Snape_  -amongst all wizards- would make something easy? But she wanted him. Lust and admiration had been a wild mix in her blood the whole of the summer. And fuck-it-all, she was a  _Gryffindor_.

She smirked at him, echoing something he would turn on her. "You'll desire me, after this, Severus Snape." Fighting the nervous tremor in her hand, she drew her fingers along his jaw, feeling the day's growth pushing through his skin. "I'll leave you so hard..." her mouth brushed over his, her teeth grazing his bottom lip. The taste of him almost drove her eyes shut, "...your dick could drill a hole in the wall."

"Such language, Miss Granger." His velvet whisper scorched her mouth, his lips almost,  _almost_  catching hers.

"Hermione." She pressed her hand to his chest, supporting her body as she lifted herself up on her toes. Solid muscle met her palm. And honestly, had he always been this tall? "I'm going to strip for you." She kissed his parted mouth, her tongue licking his upper lip. "A slow tease, revealing skin untouched by...the sun." Fuck. She'd almost said 'man', but he wanted experience. She sucked on his lower lip, her hand fisting the material of his frockcoat. "Imagine me naked," she murmured. "Firm thighs spread. Ready for you. Ready to take. To fuck."

Snape growled and his mouth came down over hers. Her third kiss. No, she was counting this as her  _first_. His long fingers threaded through her wild hair, cupping her head at the perfect angle to ravage her. His other hand gripped her hip and held her hard against him. His erection pressed into her belly.

Her head swam. She'd done that. Her touch, her words. She moaned as his expert tongue found hers, tasting, teasing, his lips sure. She clung to him, melting her body against his, her fingers in his hair and absolutely fucking  _positive_  that Kingsley Shacklebolt couldn't kiss her like this. Not for one second—

"Severus Snape! In the name of Merlin, what you  _doing_  with that girl?"

Mrs Weasley's strident voice sliced through Hermione's fierce moment of bliss. The man holding her stilled, his mouth hot over hers, his grip unyielding. He drew back a fraction and she missed his warmth, the hard press of him from thigh to mouth. Hermione fixed her gaze on his throat, on the hint of the Nagini's savage bite above the starched whiteness of his collar. Snape lifted his face and looked to the angered witch behind Hermione.

"It would appear," Snape's hand slipped from her hip to her backside. He squeezed and Hermione yelped, "I'm doing whatever I want."

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Molly Weasley's wand jabbed towards them. Sparks spat from it. "Unhand her this instant!"

"Severus…" Mr Weasley's calm tone cut across that of his irate wife, putting his fingers over her hand and forcing her to lower her wand. "I hardly think…"

"What?" An edge of anger laced Snape's voice and without thought Hermione ran a hand over his chest, wanting to soothe him. Her cheek pressed to his frockcoat and she could feel the heavy drum of his heart. "Am I not good enough for the Gryffindor Princess?"

"We're not saying that, Severus…" Remus Lupin's soft voice followed straight on.

"Oh yes we are!"

_Sirius_. Shit how many were crowded into the library to witness her attempted seduction of Severus Snape? And damn them, she'd been successful too. Would Snape throw her to them now? Walk away in disgust? She pressed herself to him and he looked down briefly, an eyebrow lifted. There was mocking humour in his dark eyes.

Fuck. Ron's giant mouth and primary school jealousies had ruined her one chance with the man she truly wanted. She tried to step back, but Snape's hand on her arse stayed firm.

"Going somewhere?" he murmured.

A smile broke from her, her pulse jumping. "No. Not at all."

"Hermione, come away." She turned her head to look properly at the crowd in the doorway. All stern, thin lipped, angry. Mr Weasley stretched out his hand. "You may think this is what you want, but you would be safer—"

"With Ron? He described me as, and I quote, 'a pity fuck'. So, no thank you, Mr Weasley."

A flush ran across Mr Weasley's cheeks and his wife's mouth whitened, anger flashing in her dark eyes. It was probably to do with Hermione's use of the phrase, not her darling Ron's harsh words.

"Hermione?" Remus' softened gaze touched her. "You can find someone else to learn from. Severus is known for his…preferences."

"Your tutoring days are over, Lupin. Tonks insists." Snape bit out the words and Hermione blinked. Had Professor Lupin followed Shacklebolt into this strange training wizards gave virgin witches? A wicked smile wrapped around his voice. "Is Potter…aware?"

_Ginny_. Ginny had slept with Professor Lupin. Had been tutored in the art of sex by him. Hermione's gaze jumped to the girl's parents…and they presented no shock. Had they agreed to the arrangement? And they would happily let their only daughter romp with a known werewolf…but objected to  _her_  with Snape? Hypocrites. Bloody hypocrites.

"My choice is clear. And made." Hermione gave them all a short smile. "So, if you could allow us privacy, please?"

Sirius made a grab for her arm. "Hermione—"

"Hands off, Mutt." Snape's wand gouged into the amimagus' neck and Sirius winced, his fingers flexing and drawing back. "We mustn't touch what isn't ours."

"You're sure?" Remus held Hermione's gaze, his green eyes quiet and firm. "Even at this late stage, you can pull away."

He thought –they all thought— she'd already slept with Snape. "I'm sure, thank you, Remus."

The werewolf turned and ushered the others from the room. Reluctantly, they moved to his will. Sirius' grey eyes, hard and angry, were the last thing she saw before the library door thudded shut.

Severus flicked his wand and threw wards and silencing spells until the wood groaned. Hermione –still crushed hard to his body— shut her eyes and willed down her terminal embarrassment.

"Severus…"

He swore and stood back from her. "It seems you have your way, Miss Granger."

She wanted to point out that he had liked her kiss, that  _he_  was the one to deepen it. But she didn't. Instead, she found her chair again, picked up her glass and took a burning gulp of the foul whiskey. The hard cough and splutter that followed pushed out everything, her soured desire, her mortification, her disappointment.

"No pleas? No justification?"

Hermione stared at the drink in her shaking hands, ignoring the man looming over her. Had the eruption at their lack of approval simply happened early? Would they have reacted the same way in the morning…or whenever her tryst with the dark wizard was discovered? What was so bad about Severus Snape? A smile tugged at her mouth. Until the war ended,  _that_  list would've been long indeed.

"Miss Granger, I am not used to being ignored."

"Remus mentioned your preferences. Is that your disgust for virgins?" She looked up and Snape frowned at her.

"Not disgust." He sat forward in the chair opposite, his finger drawing a line over his lips. "I am known not to have the  _temperament_  for the inexperienced."

Hermione sighed. She'd messed up everything. As if sex had ever mattered to her… Yet it did now. After  _his_  kiss. Now she could think of little else. For a long moment, she held his gaze, seeing nothing in its darkness but the reflection of the fire. She trusted him. Deep down, she always had. "You won't hurt me."

Snape snorted. "How do you know that also isn't a predilection of mine?"

She blinked and her mouth gaped. No words would come out. Wonderful, she was doing a brilliant impression of Ron.

"Don't worry yourself, Miss Granger."

"Hermione." She gave him a tight smile. "You will see me naked, after all."

" _Hermione._ " His velvet voice wrapped around her name and there was that familiar throb. He pressed his lips together and she caught the subtle shift in him. Severus had left her. Professor Snape was back.

"You are about to enter into what is known as The Virgin Agreement. Or simply The Agreement. It's an ancient tradition, dating back millennia." His mouth ticked upwards. "Virginity in the wizarding world isn't prized. Too often a virgin's blood and bone is a component in dark magic. So –if not already disposed of— when they're of age, a young wizard or witch's family offers them The Agreement."

She stared at him.  _What?_  "How did I not know of this?"

"I will be asking Minerva that very question in the morning. It's usually a pureblood tradition –hence Miss Weasley— but half-bloods and muggle-borns adopt it for protection too."

The Weasleys knew of this tradition and hadn't thought to mention it to her. Was it something that was not talked about outside of immediate family? "Did you…?"

His face hardened, his eyes black chips. "No."

Hermione looked to her glass again and put the warmed whiskey back on the table. She stretched her fingers. Whatever they were going to do, learning about his past would not be a part of it. "What must we do?"

"You must chose how I will be of service to you." He lifted his chin and there was a tightness to him now. She had backed him into this. Backed them both. "There are two forms. Magister and Mentoris. The first is a…private tutor. We would meet in a neutral place, perhaps once or twice a week. There I would instruct you. No one would be privy to The Agreement."

A dirty secret. That was the first impression Hermione had. A way to wipe away her ignorance. It was no doubt the method Snape preferred. Least fuss to him. And in a way to her, if the reaction of the people closest to her was anything to go by. "And Mentoris?"

"The traditional method. A ribbon is worn at the throat, a sign to everyone of your Agreement. I would wear a ring. Mentoris is the honour of not only awakening your flesh, but introducing you to the wizarding world as a fully adult witch. To our ways and culture."

Hermione's belly tightened. She wanted him to be her Mentoris. More than anything. For him to fill the vast gaps in her knowledge. And the dark thrill of being tied to him, even if it was only for this short time. "How long does The Agreement last?"

A muscle tugged in Snape's cheek. "As a Magister, anything up to a month. I understand the time spent together is intense, the magic flowing through the bond sharpening the sexual experience. Almost as if it were a lust-filled affair, satisfying, but bound to end.

"A Mentoris a season. Perhaps longer."

Three months with him as her lover. The temptation of it was sharp. A thought hit her. "I've never seen Ginny wear a ribbon."

"Lupin because of his  _affliction_  was restricted to the Magister method."

She frowned, still basically shocked at a side of wizardry about which she'd had no clue. And Ginny was her  _friend_. "Wasn't it dangerous for Ginny? With Remus?"

Snape shrugged and his smile was dark. "He would not be someone I would chose for  _my_  daughter. I believe the bond protected her from his lycanthropy. Arthur and Molly certainly thought so and trusted him. As others have. Potter will now reap the benefits of her education."

Hermione winced. She didn't want to put Harry and sex in the same thought. She picked up her glass again, rubbing her thumb over its cut crystal. "This is all still so strange." She met his gaze, her pulse thudding. She had what she wanted. Severus Snape would be her first lover. She would offer him the method. It was only fair. "Which one should I chose?"

"Miss Granger…"

"Hermione."

His mouth pursed and that urge to kiss him reared in her thoughts again. "Hermione. The choice is yours."

"But it's your life. As Mentoris you would be seen with me, others would  _know_."

"I would accompany you to parties, private and Ministry-sponsored. There would be perhaps lessons that did not involve a bed, in history and etiquette. Then there is the time spent  _in_  a bed. Beyond that, my life would be my own."

A stone dropped in Hermione's belly at his last words. He would not be exclusively hers. He would continue to play the…rake. Her eyes burned.

"Witches and wizards are always honoured to have a ribboned-witch in attendance. It's a sign of taking your adult role in the world. Of protecting others." He sipped his whiskey. "I imagine we will see a resurgence of it with Riddle and his followers finally imprisoned or dead. Before it was prudent to hide your virgin status."

"Did no one ever wonder about me?"

"It was assumed either Potter or Weasley did the deed." A wry smile tugged at his mouth as she stared at him. "I admit, I may have fed that rumour more than once. Potter's virgin friend? Too tempting for the Dark Lord to ignore."

Heat burned her face in a mix of embarrassment and anger.  _He_  had slandered her? As if the  _Prophet_  hadn't taken as much delight in dragging her supposedly loose morals through its pages. A contradiction if keeping her virginity was so bad. Perhaps it was the leaping from partner to partner that was so morally wrong?

Snape's final words pushed through her indignation. "Riddle would have bled me dry?"

"Without a doubt."

"Then, thank you for making me out to be a hussy."

A chuckle broke from him. He sank back into his chair and pointed his glass at her, his eyes narrowed. "You think I would prefer to be a Magister for you. An intense rush of lust, hidden from view. But I know you want me as your Mentoris."

"Sir…"

"A sign to the wizarding world that there is nothing to fear now."

Her heart squeezed. She could let him believe that. That she was using him as a stunt, a brash and Gryffindor way to show that Riddle was dead and she was not afraid to display herself and her status. He was right. It was  _also_  that. But mostly it was having time with him. Having _more_  than sex with him.

She gave him a quiet nod, not able to hold his gaze. "Yes."

"Then I will be your Mentoris."

Her mouth dried. "Thank you."

She looked up and found his wand in his hand, his glass once again on the table. A few complicated flicks, the murmur of words and a thin white ribbon and a heavy white-gold ring appeared on his thick palm. His wand disappeared back up his sleeve. "Stand, please."

Hermione put down her glass and rose.

"Take the ring and put it on the little finger of my wand hand."

He held his right hand out, steady and sure and she pushed the ring on his finger, the flicker of magic stinging her skin to course along her veins. She gasped, her body suddenly arcing against the lick of flame that unerringly found her nipples. "What…?"

Snape's smile was wicked as he stood before her now, the white ribbon looped between his hands. He kissed it and Hermione almost groaned. His mouth had burned hot and wet over her navel. "Lift your hair, Hermione."

His voice was soft, enveloping her. She watched him close the short distance between them. His dark eyes heated. Yes,  _Severus_  was definitely with her now. "What will this do?"

His smile deepened and her flesh tightened at the pure wantoness of him. How was she going to keep her hands off him in public?

"Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

It was a hot, velvet whisper against her mouth as his fingers skimmed her throat. Hermione didn't breathe, couldn't think. Her flesh was on fire. Her breasts ached, her nipples tight and hard. And as he eased the ribbon around her neck, his light touch flowed over her, flowed _down_. Down between her thighs were no one had touched, seeming to stroke, to play with a level of skill that shamed her own inept fumblings.

"Breathe, Hermione."

She sucked in air on his command, staring at him, fear and want a heady mix in her thoughts. His smile was dark, his eyes almost sinful. And still his touch, at her neck and between her legs held her. Her pulse pounded. Everything, her flesh, her sex, her chest, everything was so tight, straining for something under the power of his remorseless fingers.

With the hint of a smile, he licked her lip. "Come for me, Hermione."

His taste, his touch, his sin-filled voice burst over her tortured flesh and blazed a riot of heat and light over her body and mind. She cried out, her spine bowing, lost in a wild moment of complete and utter joy.

Vaguely, she was aware of Snape's –Severus', surely now— strong hands holding her up. She trembled and without his support she was certain her knees would've given out. She let her head fall against his chest and simply breathed as the echoes of her climax chased through her flesh.

"Your first orgasm?"

Further heat ignited her face and she could only nod against him.

"You surprise me."

Hermione closed her eyes at the flicker of amusement in his voice. "It was never a priority."

He tipped her chin up and gave her a short smile. "Let's get you back to your room, Hermione. Remember to lock, silence and ward it. We will discuss our agreement further in the morning."

He unwarded the door and slipped her arm into his as she fought to pull her mind and body together.

What had she agreed to? Perhaps a quarter of a year of  _this_  with Severus Snape…and he hadn't even touched her. Not properly. Worse to spend time with him and to know it was a binding, nothing more than a contract with a set end date. And that even in the short days to come, he was not solely hers.

Sometimes she was so stupidly,  _stupidly_  muggle, wanting something that was impossible even in a magical world.

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Severus tossed floo powder into the cold grate of his room's fireplace and watched the green fire flare up. "Headmistress' Office. Hogwarts."

Minerva had escaped the festivities early the night before, unwilling to leave the castle and its children undefended. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was still early –barely seven— but the Scottish witch had never been one for much sleep.

"Minerva?"

_"Severus? Come through."_

Her voice was a hollow echo in his bedroom and he stepped into the fireplace, twisting through the network to the familiar tower office. He flicked away the soot and ash with a wave of his wand and focused on the witch sitting at Dumbledore's wide desk.  _His_  old desk. He didn't envy her her task now.

"Come to say you'll take a position? Potions and Defence are still open to you. I'll happily toss out who I have now."

He smirked. "Such loyalty to your staff, Headmistress…"

She met his smile, calling for an elf and ordering tea and breakfast for her sitting room. "You won't have eaten."

He shrugged and followed her into the round room beyond the Head's office. Books lined the walls, broken by long, thin windows still showing the darkness of a winter in Scotland. The air was warmed by a blazing fire, the scent of hickory slipping across his senses. He pushed aside a throw –one of the Headmistress' garish family tartans— and sat as she did. He accepted the cup of hot tea she offered.

She stilled. Yes, she'd spied the ring on his wand hand. "Severus?"

"It was an interesting night last night." He settled back into his chair and watched the older witch over his cup. "I had it confirmed that Miss Granger is a virgin."

For a moment, shock froze Minerva's lined face before her mouth thinned. "What are you about, Severus?"

" _Me?_ " He lifted an eyebrow and a prick of anger pierced his voice. "She is  _nineteen_. She had no idea how dangerous her position was. None. What were  _you_  about, Minerva? Why did you keep one of your favourite cubs in the dark?"

A flush touched the Headmistress' cheeks. "Hermione is muggle-born—"

"So? Riddle would've found her blood and bones just as fine as any pure-blood witch."

"That threat is gone."

Anger twisted in his gut. Guilt rippled off the woman. Minerva had done something. And she wasn't proud of it. "Gone now, yes. But the  _threat_  is always there. She's lived in ignorance for years. One word and I would've been forced to take her. Spill her blood."

Minerva picked up a slice of toast and dropped it on her plate. She reached for the butter. Her face was tight and she was avoiding his gaze. She knew she was in the wrong. He wanted to know why. "She was hardly interested in sex.  _Books_  are her passion. I saw no need to force her into a situation for which she was not ready."

"The truth, please, Minerva. We've known each other too long."

She looked up and gave a sharp nod to his ring that glowed in the firelight. "And you've taken it upon yourself then, have you? A Mentoris. You?"

She was trying to spike him, to drive the anger into him so he would react and leave her alone. But he was no longer living on the edge of his skin, strained and stretched as he fought the war on both sides. He took a sip of his tea and lifted an eyebrow. "What did you do?"

"She is a muggle-born," was her snipped reply.

"Yes, I am aware of that."

"They…" Her lips pinched again and she stabbed butter onto her toast. Jam followed. "She wouldn't have understood The Agreement."

"To my utter surprise, Miss Granger turns out to be quite a clever witch. She certainly seemed to understand it perfectly well last night."

"Severus!" Minerva huffed out a breath and put down her butter knife. Her shoulders straightened and she lifted her chin. Severus half-expected the old Gryffindor to growl. "You know that muggle society –her society— would find it bizarre if not completely dissolute."

"She is a  _witch_  and should've been protected. Why did you not protect her?" He frowned and a sick feeling filled his belly. He hoped he was wrong. "It wasn't some twisted plan of Albus' was it?"

"No!" Minerva glared at him. "He knew nothing about it."

"About  _what_?"

"We –I— wanted her to find her first time without artifice."

Someone had put Minerva up to it. Had convinced her that a muggle-born wouldn't appreciate a Magister tutoring her. His chest tightened. It would've been Lupin and that unpleasant realisation made him wince. "Who suggested this?"

The older witch's shoulders sagged. She let out a long breath. "Hermione was around them so often, I was certain that she'd given up her virginity long ago." She held his gaze now, her blue eyes pain-filled. Guilty. Her voice was choked. "I truly thought she was safe, Severus."

Anger did rise in him now, burning at the edge of his thoughts. "The Weasleys." They'd protected their own daughter, and planned what for Hermione? Arthur wasn't insane enough for this. Molly.  _Molly_  had wanted her virginity… Oh, he could happily strangle the interfering witch. "Molly wanted a virgin for her precious Ron."

Minerva sighed. "She pointed out Hermione's interest in him and how it would be more fitting for a muggle-born to find her first lover in a more muggle way. It was the summer before Hermione would begin her Sixth Year. I had planned to speak to her about taking a Magister…"

Severus pushed down his fury, but still it edged his words. "She should've been given the choice."

Minerva closed her eyes. "She has it now."

"Did Molly hope to snare Miss Granger, bind her to her son through this? Had she realised how completely unsuited they are?"

Minerva sighed and picked up her cup. She stirred in sugar, her movements rote. "Perhaps. I'm ashamed to say, I never thought too hard on it. Albus had been a fool and put on that ring… My mind was elsewhere." Her spoon clinked against her saucer. "Will you tell her?"

"She's already wondered." He lifted his hand, his ring glittering. "And Molly was not receptive to the idea of this."

Not that they knew of The Agreement yet. They'd simply been horrified at the thought of his sleeping with the Granger girl. Discovering the fact that he would be her shadow for the next few months would no doubt drive them apoplectic.

"Mentoris." A nostalgic smile lifted Minerva's thin lips. "That is a tradition I have missed. I'll be glad to see it return. And it will mean so much now." She stared into her teacup. "I was a ribboned-witch." She looked up and her eyes were misty. "It's a great honour you do her, Severus."

A knot tightened in his chest. He didn't want to see Minerva's yearning for her past. The remembrance of long-lost pleasure. Thoughts of taking on Granger already had him uneasy. He had vowed never to have another virgin. Had reminded himself of that fact only the night before, the threat of old memories promising to swamp him. He'd lost his virginity at sixteen to Lily Evans. They'd lost their virginities to each other…and for a time it was pure bliss.

When James Potter took her from him, he'd sworn never to have another virgin in his bed. Never again. He wanted experience. A witch who knew exactly what she wanted. Told him as he told her. No breathless discovery. No tentative exploration...

But now he had just that with Hermione bloody Granger. A girl –woman—who hadn't even had an orgasm till he put a damned ribbon around her neck. Untouched didn't cover it. She couldn't  _be_  more virginal. And he'd bound himself to the witch for the next three months.

Idiot that he was, he'd been congratulating himself that he was finally free.

Fate certainly knew how to piss on him. Repeatedly.

 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Hermione broke apart her croissant and smeared butter on it. Kreacher crept up, placed a heavy mug of coffee beside her plate and she smiled her thanks. He gave her a strange little grin in reply.

Candlelight flickered, only the first smudges of dawn pushing across the cloud-thick sky. She doubted those who'd stayed in Grimmauld Place would yet make an appearance. She supposed the party had gone on into the night.

Her room had been silent, locked tight and heavily spelled, to keep out those who, no doubt, would want to have 'words'. She'd spent sleepless hours staring up at the fire-shadows dancing against the ceiling, trying to wrap her mind around everything that had burst upon her in so short a time. It all boiled down to one swirling, almost impossible fact.

Severus Snape would be her lover.

She chewed mechanically and stared at the fine grain of the kitchen table. Her lover. And whomever else he took a fancy to.  _My life would be my own._  His words haunted her. She frowned into her coffee. She was thinking muggle. She had to think like a  _witch_.

Severus was offering her something no one had had for too many years. He'd said, many had taken the Magister route, too afraid to expose themselves. She would have an introduction to the magical world. A proper one. Not one gleaned from books. All the facets she missed, the massive gaps Hogwarts had left in her education, the things other witches knew without thought, she would know them now.

She would know  _him_  too. It wasn't just about teaching her to fuck.

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling the blush darken her face. She had to get over that. He valued experience. Not the gauche reactions of a girl. She would fake it until, well, until he taught her enough so she didn't have to…

The heat deepened in her skin and she sipped her coffee. How many more strange –almost unsettling— wizarding traditions would she uncover? At least she had one less worry, though it was a bitter one. She would never have to explain her new situation to her parents. The Order had confirmed straight after the defeat of Voldemort that her memory charms were permanent. Monica and Wendall Wilkins had a good life in Australia, happy, fulfilled, crowded with pets and people. But the reality was her parents were lost to her. Forever.

She sighed and put down her cup. The pain had lessened over the months. Still, it caught her sometimes and the sting of it burned fresh.

As the muggle world was closed to her, it was another reason to fully immerse herself in the magical one.

"Hermione?" Harry yawned and dropped down next to her. Kreacher bustled forward with tea and three, thick bacon sandwiches. "You're up early."

"I didn't stay up drinking." She smirked at him, but his gaze was on her throat. Her ribbon. Did he know what it meant? She stopped herself from touching it, though the silky feel of it against her skin reminded her of the white-hot blaze of pleasure Severus had released within her.

Harry blinked, blushed and focused on his breakfast. "Ron got falling down drunk last night." His gaze slid to her. "Flailing and muttering about you and Professor Snape. Hammered on your bedroom door. And was swearing. A lot."

Hermione winced. "In front of  _everyone_?"

"Me, Sirius and Remus. Possibly Kingsley." A smile tugged at his mouth. "Remus cast a harsh silencing spell on him and dragged him off to his room." He polished off his first sandwich with a reckless speed that would've made Ron proud, chasing it down with a gulp of tea.

Hermione's gaze fixed on her mug and her thumb toyed with the handle. Even after years of Hogwarts' feeding, Harry still ate as if his food would be snatched from him at any minute. Because, she was certain, it once had been.

"What's going on with you and Ron, Hermione?"

She glanced at the closed kitchen door. The house sat in silence. No one was stirring. She could tell Harry anything. Everything. Still heat warmed her face. Harry was her best friend, but he was still male. "I refused –for the absolutely  _last_  time— to sleep with him."

"You broke up."

She snorted. "We've never been together."

Harry frowned. "But he's been…saying all summer that you and he…"

She knew the word he'd wanted to use.  _Bragging_. Harry had tried to hush him, to shut him up, but Ron found himself able to wax lyrical about her charms. Charms he had never –and  _would_  never— see. "Lies." Trembling fingers touched her throat, tracing the edge of the ribbon. "Do you know what this means?"

Harry shook his head. Hermione pressed her lips together, She couldn't reveal what she knew had transpired between Remus and Ginny. She closed her eyes, embarrassment welling up in her. Harry was practically her oldest friend. She reminded herself that she  _could_  tell him anything.

"Ron has lied. I didn't sleep with him this summer. I have never slept with him." She looked up and gave him an unsure smile. "I've never slept with anyone."

Harry paled and he pressed his hand to his mouth. "Fuck." He flushed. "Sorry. But you should have said. The whole war. You went through the whole war… And you could have been…"

She patted his hand on the table and her smile deepened. "Harry. You're rambling."

"Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?"

Hermione blinked and a hollow pain filled her chest. He  _knew_? He knew and he never said a thing?

"I thought you and Ron had slept together, somewhere in the Sixth Year." His hand caught in his hair. "If I'd known, I would've said. You could," his eyes flicked to hers and away, "you could've approached Remus—"

" _Remus?_ "

The blush on Harry's cheeks grew to mottle his neck. He glanced back at the door and his voice dropped. "It's a wizard rite. An older wizard will teach you, about, you know,  _sex_."

She couldn't help the smile that broke from her. Sometimes Harry –for all that he had done— was still such a  _boy_.

"Ginny told me about it. How a witch or a wizard is…initiated. Remus was hers. Which was, I'll admit, kind of a slam to the gut when she told me."

"Where you  _initiated_?"

His laughter was soft. "You know when I said Cho and I kissed? It was slightly more than that."

"You bad boy."

His eyes danced, but then they sobered. "You're not seeing anyone? Then you should talk to Remus. He's obviously with Tonks now, but he might be able to point you to a…Manister, I think it's called."

"Magister."

Harry frowned. "That's what the ribbon is? Ginny never said anything about being obvious. She said it had to be completely secret for the safety of her and Remus."

Hermione nodded and explained the difference she had from Ginny, of how she wouldn't be hidden, a secret, but how her status would be known. How she was moving into the world without fear. Harry listened and she could feel the question burning in him. "Ask," she murmured.

"Who put that ribbon on you?"

She drew in a breath, readying herself for his explosion. "Professor Snape."

Harry stared at her. His mouth fell open. No sounds came out, apart from a strange, strangled grunt. His mouth closed and he swallowed. " _Severus_  Snape?"

"I doubt there could be two of him, Harry."

"Hermione…"

" _I_  asked  _him_. You'll probably hear all kinds of hysteria from the others, but that is the first fact."

"They know about…this." He waved his hand to her throat.

"Not about him being my Mentoris, no. They rather had the impression that we'd already had sex."

"Merlin's Balls," Harry muttered and scrubbed at his face. "I have a quiet night with Ginny, meanwhile, outside my room, the world goes insane."

"I want this, Harry." She looked to her mug, and the tightness in her chest was there again. "I want him."

"Oh gods, Hermione." There was realisation in his soft exclamation. "You know…you know this rite isn't permanent? It ends. He's not yours." He drew her to him, holding her and her throat ached, her eyes burning at his words. "He won't feel the same way."

"I know."

"I'm sorry." Harry pressed a kiss to her hair. "With any luck, you'll find you can't stand him. It is Professor Snape, after all."

Hermione laughed, some of the tension escaping her. Harry hadn't derided her, hadn't shown much shock at her preference. She couldn't explain why or when her desire had crept over her for Severus. His name in her thoughts still seemed…illicit.

Oh, there had been the morning of the  _Daily Prophet_  article and her awakening to him as a man. But that was only the capping of it. It seemed as if there'd always been something about him that drew her. His intelligence, his bravery, his wilful disregard for what the world thought of him. His hands. His eyes. And gods above, his  _voice_.

She doubted Harry wanted her to list the glowing attributes of a once-hated professor. She shifted away from him, pulling the tangle of her hair back. "I'll have what I can."

The front door slammed and her heart jumped. Both she and Harry looked to the kitchen door. It opened to admit Severus Snape. She stared. He wore a well-tailored muggle suit that only emphasised his lean build complimented by a long, dark coat, with its collar turned up against the winter chill. His black hair was caught at the nape, a few inky stands falling across his brow. Her mouth dried and she fought hard not to gawp. This was still her surly Potions Master. She knew that. But in this moment, he looked…gorgeous.

"Good morning," he murmured. He looked beyond Harry to her. "Miss Granger, a word, if you please."

Hermione pushed herself away from the table and Harry caught and squeezed her hand in a brief gesture of support. Snape stood to one side and let her precede him into the hall. He closed the door.

Alone with him, Hermione's nerves pricked. "I've never seen you dress this way."

His lips twitched. "A necessary camouflage." He waved to the stairs. "We should make use of the library again."

Moments later, he was shutting and warding the door to the library. He flicked his wand to the cold hearth. A fire surged. Another flick and the candles in their sconces burst into life. Hermione willed her spine straight. Experience. A woman of the world. That's who he wanted. She'd fought in a war, seen horrors. She was hardly naïve…yet he made her feel so. He'd experienced so much more. Knew so much more.

"Sit."

Hermione pulled in her attention and followed him to the chair she'd occupied the night before. Her stomach twisted and she watched him as he pushed the dark length of his coat from his thighs and crossed his long legs. He was the very image of insouciance.

He turned the white-gold ring on his finger. "I visited Minerva this morning."

"How did she react?"

"She is accepting of this." He paused and set the ring straight. "So much so, that she gifted us use of the flat Albus left her in his will. Near to the Albert Hall." He waved his hand over his clothes. "Hence this…costume."

"Did she say why she never brought up the idea of a Magister with me?"

Snape's mouth thinned and a gleam of anger heated his dark eyes. "Molly Weasley convinced her not to. She said it was a nod to your muggle heritage. I believe otherwise. I believe she wanted you for her youngest son."

Hermione stared at him. Molly had put her at risk for the sake of her son. So Ron could be her first. Her stomach lurched. "Do you know…?" She pressed shaking fingers to her mouth. "Do you know if  _he_  asked his mother for this?"

Snape shook his head. "I do not." He winced. "It's a common wizarding belief that if you're a muggle's first lover, then you catch her heart. No doubt Molly has pushed this fallacy to muggle-borns."

Hermione stared at her clenched hands, her emotions a riot. She'd been kept in ignorance for the sake of a myth. Almost a myth. She herself wanted her first time to be special, to be with a man she admired. She couldn't admit to deeper feelings. Not yet. She didn't truly know him. In a way, she hoped Harry was right. That at the end of her three months she could walk away from Severus Snape with her heart intact. It didn't help that the first thing he'd done that morning was grill Minerva about why she'd not been protected.

"It may have been done with the best of intentions." The sneer to his voice said he thought anything but that. "But the choice should have been yours. Weasley or a Magister. Not what happened."

Hermione drew in a long breath, letting it fill her lungs and easing it out. "It's the past." She gave him a tight smile. "I was lucky. Assumption and rumour worked for me. And now I have you—this." She touched her throat, stroking the length of the silk ribbon, and hoped he hadn't read anything into her slip. "What else do we have to discuss?"

"We will visit Albus' flat to see if it's suitable in a short while. Today, I will put together a schedule for meetings. Yule approaches and dinners and parties increase exponentially. I will also make it known there is a ribboned-witch seeking introduction." He tilted his head. "Is this all acceptable?"

She nodded. "Next week I start at the Ministry. Monday morning. A small cog in research and archives."

"Your ribbon will bring a lot of notice to you. Are you prepared for it?"

_Probably not._  But she didn't admit it. She lifted her chin. "It will make liars of the  _Prophet_  and of Ron. I'm happy with that."

A wry smile pulled at his lips. "Good." The smile faded. "There are rules to this Arrangement, Hermione. Only I may touch you. And you are not to initiate any contact with a male."

Harry.  _Shit_. She'd hugged Harry. Had she broken her chance already? "Any male? I," damn it, he hadn't explained this the night before, "I hugged Harry this morning."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Does he desire you?"

"Gods, no!" Hermione shuddered at the thought. "He's like my brother."

"If you are certain of their…regard, then it is safe. The rule is set as a blanket to protect The Agreement." He turned his ring, light glinting over the gold. "Our bond is new. In time, this will flare if someone who shouldn't touches you. Men are aware of this. I will duel any who break it." He stood. "Make yourself ready. We'll go to Kensington as soon as you are." And with a sweep of his coat he was gone from the library.

Hermione slumped back into her chair and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. "Should've said Magister. You idiot." She cursed under her breath. But now that she had the chance, she'd wanted the fantasy. To be one of those women the  _Prophet_  reported on.

One photograph stuck in her mind and left her heart in her throat, a candid shot at some Ministry event, as Snape tilted up his partner's chin, his long fingers caressing her jaw. The beautiful blonde woman had appeared mesmerised, her mouth parting, anticipating the delicate brush of his lips against her own. And it had only been that the photograph captured. Over and over.

Wizards thought that being the first to sleep with a muggle took her heart. Hermione had the horrible feeling they would be proven absolutely right.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

* * *

"What is that ring?"

Mrs Weasley's shrill voice burst out through from the kitchen and Hermione paused on the stairs. She drew in a breath, twisting her courage around her. Molly Weasley had no say in  _her_  life. Not any more. She was an adult witch. Independent and no blood relation. How Hermione chose to live her life and her decision about who had a place in it, was entirely up to  _her_.

She glanced at herself in the hall mirror. She'd swept her hair up, hoping to look more mature, and with it, the ribbon at her throat gleamed. She stopped herself from touching it again. It was a strange little thing, not growing wet in the shower, nor soapy…almost as if it existed in some other place. She smirked at herself. Magic could be so useful.

She'd transfigured what clothes she had into something more suitable, something that she hoped matched Snape's sartorial elegance. And produced a deep blue sweater and matching pencil skirt, tights and knee high boots. Her coat was velvet, winter-heavy and warm. She buttoned it up as she headed for the kitchen.

"I said, Severus Snape,  _what is that ring_?"

Mrs Weasley stood before the stove with her hands on her hips, glaring at Snape. He was leaning against the wall, hands clasped loosely before him, his new ring gleaming in the candlelight.

Others sat around the long table, still the worst for wear, only blearily looking up at Snape. Most were wincing at Mrs Weasley's piercing voice. Remus was frowning though. Ron had his head down and was ploughing his way through a full English. Sirius hung onto his mug of coffee as if it were a bucking hippogriff, his face grey and his eyes blood shot. Mr Weasley and Kingsley simply seemed dazed. Hermione hadn't seen a sorrier group. Usually Snape handed out his prized Hangover potion. Today it was noticeably absent.

"Hermione, there you are. Shall we go?"

Remus looked up and his gaze fixed on her neck. His chair scraped back and beside him Sirius winced. He stared back at Snape. "Mentoris?"

Snape replied with one of his elegant shrugs.

Mr Weasley blinked. "Hermione's wearing a ribbon."

She ignored them as Snape did. "I'm ready, Severus."

He presented her with one of his wry smiles, his eyes almost wicked. Her pulse jumped. So rakish…and with that look? She hoped to make it out of the kitchen before she tried to jump him.

"Severus, you can't—" Remus began.

"The thing you should be objecting to, is why. Why did Miss Granger reach the age she has still untouched?" His obsidian gaze cut to Mrs Weasley. "I'm sure Molly can explain."

Remus turned away to stare at the suddenly silent Molly, and Snape took that as his exit. He urged Hermione out of the kitchen and along the hall, stepping in front of her to open the door. Cold air rippled in from the square and she shivered. Shouts broke out in the kitchen and Snape smirked.

"We'll leave the Gryffindors to their fun."

" _I'm_  a Gryffindor."

His expression was one of mocking sadness. "I know. I'm so sorry."

Hermione growled at him and tottered down the stone steps to the pavement, Snape in her wake.

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, his gaze fixed on her. She fought to breathe evenly. "You look lovely today, Miss Granger," he murmured, his breath stirring her skin.

Heat burned in her face and her words dried.

"Your response should be 'Thank you'."

Tight pain filled her belly. It was a lesson, not a compliment. She willed a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. "Thank you."

He released her hand, glanced around the empty square, and drew her to him, his arms wrapping around her. "Relax, Hermione." He murmured the words against her temple, and the power of his voice chased away her bitter embarrassment. "You trust me in a side-along apparition, don't you?"

"Yes, of course." His scent, parchment and herbs, followed her into the hated crushing pressure and wild heartbeats later they stood in the shadows of a knot of trees. To the left, Hermione spied the gaudy and gothic Albert Memorial and ahead through the twists of branches was the Albert Hall itself.

"Those mansion blocks," Snape said, nodding towards the red brick sweep of buildings to the left of the concert hall. He eased back from her and took her hand, his strong, warm fingers closing around hers. "Come."

She walked with him across the busy road and he absently cast a notice-me-not and silencing charms over them both as they padded up the steps to the dark wood double doors leading into the long block. Still, Hermione held her breath as they drew close to the porter's desk. The uniformed man didn't look up from his paper.

"The stairs. The lift is too noticeable." Snape murmured. "Once we reset the wards, if we have to appear in the public areas, we won't be questioned."

Hermione was thankful that years of stair-climbing at school had strengthened her leg muscles and she took the six flights with ease. Snape opened the door onto a curved corridor, reclasped her hand and set off, Hermione almost trotting to keep up with his long strides.

"62 Prince Albert Mansions is unplottable. One of Albus' lesser known safe houses."

They rounded the curve and stopped before a blank wall. Snape drew his ebony wand from his sleeve and with his other hand still tightly holding hers, murmured spells against the wards. With an aching groan, a wide, black door appeared, matching the ones they'd passed on the corridor.

Snape let out a slow breath. "The wards will recognise us both now." And he stepped forward, taking her with him, the ripple of warm magic flowing over her. With a tap of his wand, the door opened.

A little house-elf bobbed, his ears flicking. His luminous eyes gleamed with happiness. "I'm Gret, and I'm here from The Headmistress. To clean. Prepare." His bright gaze moved over her ribbon and Snape's ring and he clapped his large, spindly hands. "So happy to serve here. So honoured. Welcome Once-Headmaster, Miss Granger."

"Master Snape will do," he muttered, shooing the elf before him down the wide hallway.

Hermione stared. Cream walls stretched away, bare of portraits, but filled with light from two long, magical windows that looked out onto Kensington Gardens. The hints of polish and lemon teased the air. Breathing it in, Hermione's tensions eased somewhat. Why hadn't Dumbledore used this flat rather than the doxie-infested miserable hole that was Grimmauld Place?

Snape glanced back at her. "Minerva said there's only six bedrooms here. And that's pushing the expanding magic to its edge. The Mutt's dump is almost limitless."

"Reading my mind?"

His smile was sharp. "Would I do that?"

"Do you want me to answer honestly?"

Snape stopped in a widened area before staircase that led down to another floor. He took her hands and drew her to him. The glow from an ornate chandelier spilled light over him and dropped gold into his eyes. "You must be honest with me. Completely honest." His voice was liquid sin, pouring into her. "If I am to teach you." His lips brushed her ear and a delicious shiver ran the length of her body. "To draw every pleasure from your flesh, then I must know your every thought, your every desire."

How did he simply switch it on? Her eyes closed and she let the myriad sensations of his touch, his scent, his voice roll through her. Delicious and decadent. She kissed his throat without thought, nuzzling under his chin. "Ask," she murmured.

* * *

Severus breathed in the scent of her hair, jasmine mixed with the dark vanilla of her skin. Did she have to be…affectionate? Fuck-it-all, someone should've had her years ago. Then he could have her now, without thought or conscience. No, this was fate pissing on him.  _He_  was the one who had to guide the girl and let other men reap the reward of  _his_  efforts.

He forced a smile against her skin, even though he wanted nothing more that to drag her into the nearest bedroom, vanish her clothes and take her in every way he knew. But that wasn't the role of the Mentoris –his smile became real— not yet, anyway. Soon, though.

"Go, explore this place and tell me what you think."

She drew back from him and there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes. Was the girl who thought so little of sex finally awakening to it? She also had her Gryffindor forwardness. He looked forward to exploiting  _that_.

She tottered off down the long corridor and Severus shrugged out of his coat. Gret appeared beside him with a sharp crack, offering to take it. "Tea please, in the main reception room."

"Yes, Master Snape." With a pop the beaming elf vanished.

Severus ran his finger around the collar of his shirt, not used to how low it sat on his neck. He had a busy day ahead. Registering The Agreement at the Ministry –which would no doubt cause a flurry of excitement— and with it known, the owls would flood in. A ribboned-witch, after all held a very special place in their world. And at this point in time, even more so.

His time would be spent planning. And Merlin preserve him, tomorrow he would have to go  _shopping_. He could at least make this flat his base and avoid the nightmare Grimmauld Place would become.

He pushed open the wide door and stepped into the bright, high-ceilinged room with its long series of windows, all of them magical. They showed the winter-greenery of Kensington Gardens, not the true view, which was simply a mirror of another mansion block.

He sank into the deep cushions of a long couch and crossed his legs. He didn't doubt that the Granger girl –contrary to the usual arrangement— would be sharing the flat with him by the end of the week. Molly, her shite of a son and the Mutt would make their views all too clear.

Gret reappeared with a tea service and set it on the low table before him. "Is Master Snape requiring anything else?"

"No, thank you."

The little elf grinned at him, bowed and vanished.  _That_  would only get worse too. The pleasure of others at the roles they'd adopted. It had been at least thirty years since anyone felt safe enough to display the ribbon and ring.  _Who_  they were would also be a factor. Recognised war heroes. He winced at the idea. The whole this was a fucking perfect storm.

"This place is beautiful." Granger burst into the room, her smile wide. "There's so much light in every room."

"Tea, Miss Granger."

She paused, her fingers half way to pulling one of the books from the run of bookshelves that stretched around the walls. "Yes, please."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. She didn't even have the basics in wizarding etiquette. He was going to roast Minerva for this. Yes, there should be allowances made for her being muggle-born, but the girl also had to survive a century –or more— in the wizarding world. He had always loathed the lack of effort made to integrate those not born into their society. Teaching them manners, the ways of wizards, protected them from insult and injury.

"First lesson," he said, his voice taking on the strict edge of the classroom. "I am your Mentoris. Your teacher, as it were. You defer to me."

A blush stained her cheeks. "I should pour the tea."

He nodded. "Milk, no sugar." He smirked. "Milk in first."

She gave a mock shudder. "Milk in after. So completely wrong."

He sighed. "You can't be this flippant when we're in company. Wizards are slow to change." She lifted her eyebrow in an uncanny echo of his own gesture and he fought not to smile. "Manners are still somewhere deep in the nineteenth century."

"Provide me with books, Severus." She frowned and paused in passing him the delicate teacup and saucer. Her blush deepened. "Should I use your first name?"

He took the cup from her. "The occasional 'sir' would be a pleasant change."

She poured her own tea and sat on one of the formal chairs, her posture perfect. She gave him a short smile. "I'm certain to gain an Outstanding in Casual Sarcasm. Sir."

His gaze narrowed, but he didn't check her. There would be enough formality in their conduct. To have that stretch into their private time would grate on his nerves. And add a reminder that she wasn't his equal, not in experience.

"Does this place suit?"

She grinned at him. "It's wonderful. There's a huge library on the other side of the hallway. You might not see me for days."

"Normally, we wouldn't share a living space. As with a Magister, a neutral place is chosen." Severus caught the brief flare of disappointment. For some strange reason the little chit wanted to spend time with him. He had to wonder what fantasy she was building in her head. He looked away. No doubt he would disappoint. He always did. "But…" He focused on her again and there was that little happy spark. Yes, the girl was addled. "Given that I am, in effect, homeless and you are trapped in Grimmauld Place  _and_  that this flat is quite adequate for two people…"

"We'd live here. Together." Her blush was back. "Is that allowed?"

"It would be preferable, I'm sure, to living in the Mutt's pestilential dump."

Her mouth turned down at the corners to deny a smile. "With Mrs Weasley still in residence. And Sirius and Remus." She pulled a face. "And  _Ron_." She tilted her head. "Would it be best to put on a show of staying…then escape, say, Friday?"

She thought like him. It still surprised him how quick she was. Though it shouldn't. He'd been denying her fierce intelligence for years. "Precisely."

She beamed at him, in a manner that would've made Gret proud. Did she crave approval from the one professor who hadn't fallen over himself to praise her?

"When you've finished, we can floo back to Grimmauld Place. I will have to leave you, as I must set up your itinerary. I will collect you tomorrow at nine in the morning. We must shop."

Her joy shrivelled. "Shop?"

"Clothes and accessories, Miss Granger. A necessary evil." He paused. Now that she had approved of the flat, he had one more piece of information to impart. He debated leaving it until the next night…but that was hardly fair. He was meant to breaking her in. Fuck.

He held down a wince. "As per custom, now that we have agreed to this meeting place, we must share a bed. I suggest tomorrow night, as I can then escort you to your new department in the Ministry."

She blinked, and the slight tremor of her fingers rattled her saucer…but her eyes, her eyes were dark. It wasn't fear. It was nerves and desire.

"Are you willing, Hermione?"

Oh he knew he was a bastard with that question. Knew it. But couldn't help himself. Not when her soft mouth parted and her pulse flickered at her throat. Even her ribbon glowed.

She licked her dried lips and Severus dick stirred. "Yes. Yes, sir."

The girl was pretty, oh-so-willing and mirrored his thoughts and dislikes. His cooling tea tasted foul in his mouth and his gut cramped. He was walking into trouble. The next three months would be hell.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Hermione watched the green flare of flame die in the library hearth of Grimmauld Place, before she let her head fall against the cool marble of the mantle. Now she'd be playing house with him. Sharing a  _bed_  with him. Merlin save her, how was she supposed to stay detached?

She clasped her books to her chest. Her day would form around them. She had wanted to know how to move through the wizarding world. The fat book Severus had given her on etiquette and the disturbingly thin volume on The Virgin Agreement were her beginning.

"You're still a virgin, then."

Hermione held down a groan. A minute. Five. She would've welcomed some reprieve from Ron and his 'poor me, pity me' attitude. She turned and lifted her chin, aware that her upswept hair and the light through the dusty window made her ribbon shine.

Red mottled Ron's face and his mouth was twisted. He stuck his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching. He looked like a disgruntled child. "You lied."

Hermione stared at him.  _She'd_  lied? When  _he_  was the one declaiming in overly loud whispers that he'd fucked her whilst riding Buckbeak? "I  _said_  I'd chosen Professor Snape's expertise."

"This is some stunt. Something to prove you belong. Everyone will laugh, you know. A ribboned-witch is a  _pureblood_  tradition."

Her fingers itched to slap him as anger roiled in her gut. How  _dare_  he? Would punching him in the face count as initiating contact? It also probably wasn't proper etiquette to want to knee him in the balls either. "It's a  _wizarding_  tradition, Ronald. And I am a witch."

"You really want to fuck the Great Bat?" He gave her a sneer worthy of the man he derided. "Honestly?"

"Honest?" She glared at him. " _Honest?_  Honest, would've been telling me about the danger I was in. Honest, would've been giving me a choice in how I protected myself. Did you ask your mother to speak to Professor McGonagall? Did you think if you 'got in first' I would stay with you?"

Ron blanched. Had he thought she hadn't known? And his reaction, the widening of his eyes, his sudden stillness, said that the boy she'd believed her friend had put his selfish desire before her safety.

"Did you  _honestly_  think I wouldn't find out?"

"Fuck you, Mione."

She strode past him, anger and pain thick in her flesh. "Not a chance." She paused in the open doorway, fighting down her tears. The little shit would not see her cry. "And my name is  _Hermione_."

She stamped up the stairs to her room. He'd known. He'd  _asked_ … Bastard. Absolute bastard. Was his bragging some sort of strange way to appease his guilt? To hide the fact that he'd wanted her virginity, but since he hadn't taken it, he didn't want others to know her dangerous status? Or was it worse? Hiding from his mother that he  _hadn't_  slept with her? He was insane. His own word: mental. And she was well shot of him.

She slammed her way into her room and fell back against the closed door. Would people laugh? Point and sneer at the upstart muggle-born taking on such an ancient tradition?

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she huffed out a laugh. A Severus gesture. Already. Damn Ron. Come the end of the week she would be happily –albeit very nervously— installed in Prince Albert Mansions. Her life totally separate from Ron and his interfering mother.

* * *

Hunger finally drove her from reading her books. She'd hardly had any breakfast, after all. A glance at her clock proved it was well after one. Food, she needed food. She rolled off her rumpled bed and smoothed her hands over her creased clothes.

A smile pulled at her mouth. Shopping with Severus Snape. Would he insist on full black? Would she appear in society as a mini him? Grabbing her books, she headed down to the kitchen.

Kreacher gave her his strange little smile and ushered her to sit in one of the warmer seats near the stove. The house elves seemed to be happy with her ribbon –though her book hadn't mentioned why. In fact it was bald on most facts. She made a note to herself to ask the little elf later on. When they were alone.

Because the kitchen was heaving. And silent. An almost full Weasley contingent and everyone from that morning, except Kingsley. The Burrow was still a wreck and Sirius had offered his house. The Weasley's seemed happy to take the rebuilding of their home at a slug's pace.

Too many eyes watched her as she picked her way to her seat, put her books on the table, and sat. Had Kreacher saved her this place, between Harry and Remus? A buffer against the rest of the room.

"I didn't know you were back," Harry said, reaching across for a dish of potatoes and handing it to her. "Though Kreacher is now insisting this is your seat." He grinned at her. "You're corrupting my elf."

She grinned at him and spooned potatoes onto her warm plate. "I wasn't out long."

Cutlery clanked and she looked across the table to Ron. Her former-friend glared at her. She gave him a polite –if snippy— smile and thanked Remus as he offered her a plate of sliced beef.

Tension only thickened, no one speaking. Harry was biting back a grin, the pressure only making him want to laugh. Hermione took a sip of her water. Was every meal going to be this way? She'd have a gut rotted by indigestion before the day was out. So, she decided to prick the strain.

She put down her glass. She didn't have to offer an explanation to anyone, according to her book. Her decision was her concern alone. No wizard or witch could question it, even as Ron already had. It was almost...blasphemous. But then Ron always had been a thoughtless idiot. She drew in a breath, still she  _had_  to say something. "Yes, I am a ribboned-witch. And yes, Professor Snape is my Mentoris. I asked him for this honour."

" _Honour_." Ron bit out the word and stabbed his fork into a cut of beef.

Hermione ignored him. "So now we can carry on as normal."

"We most certainly cannot." Sirius muttered from his seat at the head of the table.

The others shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious Percy, with his hands tense and white either side of his plate, wanted to run. At least the twins were absent. She still had their reaction to endure. Ginny gawped. Openly. Mrs Weasley wasn't looking at her, but she was breathing hard and heavy, as if  _she_  were the wronged party.

"Hermione." Sirius placed his knife and fork deliberately across his cleared plate. "You understand our concerns. It's Snape.  _Snape_. You should have come to us, to  _me_ —"

"Sirius!" Remus' interruption was short and clipped.

Hermione reddened. Sirius had practically propositioned her. It was in her book. To suggest that she go to another man whilst she wore the ribbon was scandalous.

Sirius frowned. "I didn't mean it like that." But the flush to his face told a different story. "I  _meant_ , if you needed advice or a recommendation—"

"Merlin, Sirius, hold your tongue," Remus growled. "A ribboned-witch has made her choice."

His old friend blinked and his grey eyes fixed on Hermione's throat as if seeing what she wore for the first time. His flush deepened. He sat back in his chair and shook his head. "My apologies, Hermione. It's been so long since anyone was brave enough to show their status, I forgot myself."

She smiled. "Accepted."

Mrs Weasley huffed, even as her husband placed his hand on hers. "This is wrong." Her hard whisper carried. "To choose this. To choose  _him_."

"As opposed to what?" Hermione wouldn't let that insult go. "No choice at all?"

"Don't take that tone with me, my girl." Mrs Weasley glared at her, but Hermione didn't back down. "You are muggle-born and new to our ways."

Hermione snorted. "I seemed to catch on to magic  _fairly_  quickly. I'm certain I would've coped with the choice."

"You even sound like him, now," Ron muttered. "What did he stick in you to do that?"

"Ron!" His father clipped him across the back of the head. His son yelped, muttered under his breath, shoved away his plate and left the table. He stamped from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." Mr Weasley gave her an embarrassed smile. He turned hard eyes on his wife. "Nothing more will be said."

Mrs Weasley's mouth thinned and the dark shine of rebellion lit her eyes. Nothing more would be said  _then_. Hermione was certain that the minute Mr Weasley was out of earshot, Mrs Weasley would have  _a lot_  to say. Instead, she followed her son. Her husband, with more murmured apologies left too. Percy saw his chance and fled.

Harry sat back in his chair. "Wow, you know how to clear a room, Hermione."

A laugh burst from her, sharp and unrestrained, a sudden release of pressure. "I do. I should be hired out at parties to relieve them of unwelcome guests."

Sirius grinned and rose from his seat. "I have a date to prepare for."

"At seven." Remus winced. "Five hours, Sirius, really?"

"I wouldn't want to disappoint." He gave a half-formal bow to Hermione, turned on his heel and was gone.

"And then there were four," Hermione said, turning back to her food. "I have an untapped skill. I do."

Ginny leant forward across the table, her eyes bright and wide, and almost vibrating with the idea of such delicious gossip. "So what were you thinking, Hermione? Really. Because, well,  _Snape_?"

"Ginevra." Remus' low voice froze the younger witch. Her cheeks pinked and something passed between them, a command, a power that Ginny couldn't avoid or deny.

Ginny's eyes dropped and she sat back, her spine straight. "My apologies, Magister," she murmured. She looked up and held Hermione's gaze. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

Hermione wet her dried lips, too shocked for a moment to speak. Remus still held that much power over the younger witch, even though both of them were in firm relationships with other people. Remus was  _married_ … Would Severus still affect her in such a way when she…moved on?

She gave a belated smile to her friend, realising she hadn't replied. "Thanks, Ginny."

She was too aware of Harry's silence. Was he as shocked as her at the…connection between his friend and his girlfriend? It was likely that Remus had never had to reprimand Ginny before. This was a mess. A mess that could've been avoided years before. Severus was right and this confirmed their decision. She would have to leave. Even those who supported her were uncomfortable with her choice. She did wonder how she would last till Friday. At least a full day at work would have her out of the house now.

A glittering silver wolf patronus burst into the room and bounded towards Remus. It leapt up, pressing its paws onto his shoulders and its tongue licked his cheek. Tonks' voice burst from its open jaws.  _"Remus, come find me at the Ministry. Nothing dangerous, fatal, or in fact fun."_ And with that the silver wolf dissolved.

A soft smile broke across the wizard's scarred face. "If you'll excuse me. My master's voice."

As the kitchen door closed behind him, Ginny's head hit the table. She caught her fingers in her hair and scrunched them tight. "Merlin's saggy ball sack, how mortifying was that?"

"So that doesn't happen often?"

There was an edge to Harry's voice that had his girlfriend looking up. His mouth had thinned and Hermione thought she saw the hints of hurt and anger lurking in his eyes. Shit, she wished she were anywhere but this bloody house.

Ginny straightened. "It was his right, Harry. I insulted Hermione. He worked with The Agreement. Any witch or wizard who's acted in the senior role –either Magister or Mentoris— will defend it and the insulted party."

Hermione pulled in a breath. She couldn't have her decision affecting her friends. "Harry, you don't have to worry. I'll be out of here by the end of the week. I have another place to stay."

Ginny's mouth dropped open. Her words came out in a raw whisper. "You'll be  _living_  with him? That's…" Something flashed through her eyes, and Hermione wondered if it was Remus' remembered rebuke. "That's unusual."

"Could you imagine if we were both  _here_?"

Ginny let out an unladylike snort. "Gods, there wouldn't be walls left for the duels."

Harry handed his empty plate to Kreacher. He leaned forward, his elbows on the scrubbed table and swept back his untidy her. His jaw muscles were tight. "Hermione, you're okay with all of this? You've turned you life upside down for well, for sex."

"Harry…" Ginny groaned. "You don't get how almost  _sacred_  a ribboned-witch is. The Ribbon and the Ring. They're symbols of protection, of taking our place -publicly- in society. It's ancient stuff. You can't question or mock it."

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's okay. It's just us here." She stroked the band of silk at her throat. "And yes, this takes some getting to. Perhaps I'm not prepared. I can't imagine other people's reactions. And the  _Prophet_? Skeeter will be foaming at the mouth and I don't have any sway with her now she's a registered animagus."

She sighed. "But I'm committed. And I do want this." Her gaze dropped, the memory of Severus' fingers on her throat and the fire his magic had seared through her flesh holding her. "I want it a lot."

"I'm proud of you, Hermione."

She looked up, surprised at Ginny's words when she had so obviously reared away from the idea only minutes before.

"I know. I Snape-freaked." Ginny grinned and Harry snorted. "But you stepping up like this, it's an absolute sign that bastard-snake-face is gone. For good." She wiggled in her chair. "I could kiss you, but then Snape might get the wrong idea and hex me to death."

Hermione let out a relieved breath. "Hopefully everything settles soon."

Kreacher took away her plate and replaced it with a bowl of sticky toffee pudding. He smiled again and Hermione thanked him. Picking up her spoon, she found Harry frowning at her.

"You've completely bespelled him.  _I_  don't have pudding."

"Miss is special," Kreacher muttered, pushing a similar bowl in front of Harry. "Now you have pudding."

Hermione snickered, pressing her hand to her mouth as Harry's face flared red at Kreacher's censure. She lost it when Ginny spluttered a laugh, until they were all caught in it.

She wiped the forming tears from her eyes and turned her attention to her dessert. It would be fine. It would all be fine. As long as she didn't do something stupid… The thought of what that idiot thing could be burned at the back of her thoughts. She kept it there. Severus was a legilimens and her skill at occulumency was weak at best. She would not think it. She would  _never_  think it.

Scraping her bowl clean and complimenting Kreacher on his excellent dessert –at which he beamed— Hermione stood and collected her books. "I'm still trawling through the etiquette book. The minutiae of it is brain-curdling."

"And that's  _a lot_  of curdling."

Hermione whacked Harry on the shoulder with said book and he grunted. "I will see you at dinner. Hopefully it will be less…tense."

"Fingers crossed," Ginny muttered.

Hermione left them in the kitchen and took to the stairs. Reading in the silence of her room –even if she had to work out on her fingers who sat where when there was an odd number of purebloods and a distant Malfoy relation at the dinner party— would be relaxing.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the room, her mind already on her book, before it registered that someone had disturbed her wards. Her door slammed behind her and she span around, her heart catching.

Ron pressed his back against the door, blocking her escape. "We need to talk."


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Hermione dropped her books and her wand whipped into her hand. Her pulse drummed. Fuck.  _Fuck_. "Get out, Ron."

He lifted his hands, palm out, obviously empty. "Look, Mione – _Hermione_ — I know I messed everything up. Everything." He pushed his fingers through his hair and Hermione's wand hand twitched. "But we can start again. We are meant to be together. We have been from the very beginning. You know that." He winced. "This thing with Snape. I know I shouldn't have pressured you, but really, a joke's a joke. You're taking it too far."

"It is not a joke." She bit out every word.

"Come  _on_. Snape? You're going to let  _Snape_  touch you in every way you wouldn't let me?"

Her face burned, anger boiling through her. He was moving from a scandalous suggestion to a completely offensive one. Her magic flared in her hair, it lifted and the familiar metallic stink filled her senses. What kind of ignorant shit was he? Not one mention of how she was his friend. That he liked her. Even a wild stab that he loved her. No, it was all about what  _he_  wanted. Did Ron see her as some kind of flesh doll? One with which only  _he_  was allowed to play?

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm going to let him. And you know what? I will enjoy every single second." She jabbed her wand at the door. "Now get out. Before I tell your father, or Remus." She gave him a twisted smile. "Or  _Severus_."

His hands curled into fists. "Hermione." Her name came out between gritted teeth. "Be sensible. You must see this is wrong."

"Why do you care?" She shrugged. "Why care about who I give myself to first?"

"Because we should be together. Mum said…Mum approves of us." His face flushed, with anger or eagerness she couldn't tell in the half shadows of the room. "And the fact that muggle-borns –when you get going, when a wizard has you first— you love to get down to it. Honest, you will."

Hermione stared at him, a pain stabbing under her ribs at his words. "Is this what you've always thought about me?"

"You're my friend. You've always been my friend, Hermione. But we both have needs."

"You've had girlfriends." They were free to leave the house now so if sex was what he needed why wasn't he out hunting down Lavender Brown? "I'm very happy for you to go out and find someone else."

"We don't need other people." He let out a slow sigh and took a step away from the door. Heat flared through Hermione and her grip tightened on her wand. A hex formed on her lips. "I'm saying this all wrong." He gave her the lopsided grin she had once swooned over. It didn't work, it had long stopped working, and even if it hadn't, she was on the edge of panic. "You're the brains. Can't you see? You don't need another man to teach you.  _I_  can teach you."

"No, Ron." She shook her head. "This –he— is what I want."

"Hermione…"

Ron reached out for her and she staggered back, away from his touch. Behind her, the fire flared green in her hearth. Ron froze and in the same instant, an arm wrapped around her, pulling her against a hard chest. Parchment and herbs.  _Severus_.

Hermione let out a relieved breath, but still she didn't lower her wand. She would never make that mistake.

"Mr Weasley." His voice was low, quiet, the Potions Master at his most deadly. "What are you doing in Miss Granger's room?"

Ron straightened and his expression was mulish. "Talking."

"At the point of her wand?"

"We were, weren't we, Hermione?"

She could support him. Fall back on something of their old friendship. Yet, she didn't seem to know him anymore. He appeared to be blinded by the need to sleep with her to the exclusion of everything else. Including common sense. "He was talking. I was asking him to leave."

Ron's face darkened. "You can't choose him. He's a Death Eater. A murderer."

Severus' wand joined hers and the crackle of his power danced across her skin. "She can and she has. Leave, Mr Weasley before I call you out. I am more than within my rights. And as you so kindly pointed out, I  _have_  killed before."

Ron blinked. The realisation hit him quick and hard that he was suddenly in the position of being called to duel by Severus Snape. He stumbled back against the door, his hand searching blindly for the doorknob.

"This is your last warning. Heed it."

Ron fled.

Hermione's wand arm dropped and she almost sagged. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention when I entered the room. I didn't think he was so familiar with my wards. He was already inside. He didn't…he didn't touch me."

Severus turned her in his arms. His wand had vanished, and he tilted her chin up. His obsidian eyes fixed on her, held her. "You aren't at fault, Hermione." His soft words warmed her, his fingers gentle on her cheek making her heart beat hard. Her dream, her fantasy, the memory of the photograph in the  _Prophet_  flickered through her thoughts.

"Is that what you want?"

She barely registered his words before his lips were on hers, sure, smooth, the light buss of familiarity. Her chest tightened, her eyes drifting shut.

"Such an easily pleased little witch."

She gave him an embarrassed smile and let out a long breath and pressed her forehead to his throat. He'd changed again, once more in his wizarding robes, all -supposedly- repressed correctness. She shouldn't let herself fall so easily, but she couldn't seem to help it. "You knew. Even though he didn't get near me."

"This knew." Severus lifted his hand away, showing the underside of his ring. The faint hints of magic still clung to it in a silver mist. "I…felt your anger, disappointment, fear."

"Thank you for coming. I was about to hex him."

"Next time, drop him the minute he opens his mouth."

She laughed, though there was a thick vein of sadness, of bitterness to it. How close had she come to making a massive mistake with Ron? If Lavender Brown hadn't intervened in the Sixth Year, would Ron's utter belief that they should be a couple still remain? Or was she simply someone –something— unattainable? She couldn't reason Ron's actions. She wondered if he could himself.

Severus placed a kiss against her forehead and stood back. He straightened and in the thin light of her room appeared to be the stark and forbidding Potions Master again. And really that fierce authority did not make her belly flip. It didn't.

"You have your reading. I have my role as your social secretary." His dark voice dripped disdain, but she couldn't help herself. She smiled. He touched her cheek, his calloused thumb moving to draw a line under her bottom lip. "Stay out of further trouble, Miss Granger." He gave her a brief bow. "Until tomorrow."

She expected him to floo away, but he left by her bedroom door.

Hermione stared at the closed door and let out a slow groan. She hoped this was the last time Ron decided to act like an idiot. She winced. It was  _Ron_. He did seem to have an aptitude for it.

She sighed and flopped onto her bed, staring up at the smooth ceiling. Her skin still tingled from Severus' touch. She stroked her lip, carefully, not wanting to disturb the memory of his thumb, his lips against hers…

"Circe's fat pigs!" The curse burned from her, her hands slapping hard against the mattress. She couldn't give in to this crush. Severus wanted –demanded— experience. She couldn't spend her time mooning over every slight trace of him on her skin like a Second Year.

She closed her eyes and against all of her good intentions, the feeling of his breath stirring her skin and the light brush of his lips over her forehead made her belly dip. Had that been affection? Or was this how the secretive wizard behaved with his…women?

Hermione growled at herself, used her wand to flick her dropped books back into her hand, lit a lamp and willed herself back into her research.

 


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

"He's gone."

Ginny plopped herself down beside Hermione and smiled at Kreacher as he pushed a bacon sandwich in front of her.

The kitchen was empty, still too early on a Sunday morning for many people to rouse themselves out of a cold bed. Hermione had slept hard, her dreams packed with tea parties and how far she should bow to the Wizarding Minister from France, in comparison to his counterpart in Luxembourg. It had been a relief to wake up. She's showered, felt vaguely alive and sought her breakfast.

Kreacher was being uncommonly nice again and questions as to why had half formed in her brain when Ginny appeared.

"Who's gone? Everyone was here at dinner." Well, from what little time she'd spent there. Except Severus. He'd obviously completely decamped to Prince Albert Mansions. Lucky him.

"My slack-brained brother."

Hermione frowned. "You have several."

"Hey!" Ginny slapped her arm. "There's only one. No two. Oh wait..." She smirked. "All right, I'll allow your confusion. Ronnikins. He's gone. Dad packed him off to Charlie last night."

A fist tightened in Hermione's chest. It was quickly followed by hot relief. Maybe all that Ron needed was a change of scenery. He would certainly get that in Romania.

"It gets better." Ginny made a show of glancing around the empty kitchen. "I overhead Dad and your Mentoris."

Severus had had Ron removed. Hermione's hand trembled and she wrapped her fingers around her cup of coffee to disguise it. The bleeding heat of the mug broke into her shock. Her mind jumped. Mrs Weasley. Merlin's balls. She would be on a rampage now that Hermione had had her precious son removed. "What…what did they say?"

"Professor Snape caught him on the second landing. I was in my room, the door part open. And he was  _angry_." Ginny shivered. "You know that quiet vibrating fury thing he has?" She snorted. "Scared me so much,  _I_  wanted to apologise for whatever it was that had upset him.

"So he reminded Dad what he was to you. Said he'd found Ron in your room –because my brother is an Outstanding Idiot, First Class— and that he'd only held back his right to duel in deference to Dad and their long association."

Severus hadn't cast his own spell to disguise the conversation. The wizard had been a double agent for almost two decades. It wasn't likely that after only days of a full peace, he would forget something that had to have become second nature. Hermione's mouth twitched. Sneaky Slytherin. He wanted this conversation to get back to her.

"Dad didn't argue. He said Ron would be in Romania by the end of the day." Ginny grimaced. "Snape had every right to roast Ron."

Hermione nodded. "I hope he finds peace out there."

"So what's your day about?" Ginny picked up her sandwich and practically inhaled it. Definitely a Weasley thing. With so many mouths around, you had to get to your food fast.

"Shopping." Hermione bit the word out like a curse.

"With Snape? Public already? Wow."

"What was it like, with Remus?" Hermione flushed and she held up her hands. "Argh, not like  _that_. I mean, yesterday, you obviously still have that connection in some form."

Ginny stared into her mug, the tops of her cheeks pink. The normally confident girl appeared almost shy. For a long time, she was silent until a soft smile touched her lips. "It's such a special time, Hermione. Really. I mean, we had to hide, because of snake-face and because of Remus' little problem, but beyond what he taught me in bed, he became my friend, my guide. We would talk. Simply talk. It was…nice. He put me on the path to what a relationship should be about."

The younger witch looked to the ribbon around Hermione's throat. "Some days I ached for what you have now. For the war to be over and for Remus to be my practical guide to the world, not just in theory." Her eyes glistened. "You'll probably get that a lot. A host of witches and wizards envious that you can walk freely, where as we had to hide."

Hermione squeezed Ginny's hand, her own throat tight. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Enjoy this time, Hermione. It will go over so fast." She sighed and her expression changed, became sly. "So, Yule with the Professor…?"

Hermione groaned. "A present. I'll have to buy him a present." She muttered under her breath as she took a sip of her coffee. "The book on The Agreement has hardly anything in it. It's so open to interpretation by the Mentoris."

"I think the Professor will be prepared for anything, don't you?" Ginny was openly smirking now and Hermione's face warmed.

She sometimes forgot that she wasn't reading for a lesson or an essay, but for a wizard to get her naked and hopefully do deliciously wicked things to her. Her chest tightened. Starting that night?

"I bet he talks, a lot…"

" _Ginny!_ "

Her friend poured herself a fresh cup of tea. "Oh come on, you don't think he could use that voice simply to talk a witch out of her knickers?"

Hermione buried her face in her hands. Of course she thought that. He'd only said one sentence to her,  _'Miss Granger has always been a most_ willing _pupil'_ and she'd been ready to throw herself at him. "Ginny. Shut up."

Ginny laughed. She stretched her spine. "Almost nine. Someone should be getting up soon. I swear this house has made us all lazy." She poked Hermione in the arm. "Do you know if Sirius made it home last night? He is so  _bad_ , never the same witch twice."

"I agree, Miss Weasley. I shall let you into a secret. He is not invited back."

Ginny squeaked and Hermione looked up from her hands. Severus stood in the kitchen doorway, dressed in his formal black robes with the hint of snowy white at this cuffs and collar. Not as startling as his wearing of muggle clothes the day before, but in the soft mix of light in the kitchen he was completely imposing. Her belly did that stupid flip again.

She worked a smile across her mouth. "Good morning, Severus."

"Hermione."

Had he heard what Ginny had said about his voice, because the way he said her name was almost indecent. Ginny slid her a glance and mouthed, 'I told you'.

Hermione's voice was almost strangled as she asked, "Would you like tea?"

A flicker of a smile played across his mouth. "No, thank you. I've made an appointment for you at Twillfit and Tattings for nine thirty." He watched her stand, his gaze assessing. "You're ready?"

She looked down to her plain blue skirt and thick-knit jumper. Transfiguring something to match Severus' elegance had escaped her that morning. She'd not bought anything new for years. Living in a tent, the war and trapped in Grimmauld Place, meant she existed on cast offs and hand-me-downs. She shrugged. She couldn't lie. "It's all I have, I'm sorry. I can transfigure…"

Severus flicked his wand. Red fabric, silky-smooth and warm, wrapped around her, forming into a dress that stopped at her knees, revealed the respected amount of décolleté and that hugged her body in exactly the right way, neither daring nor frumpy.

Severus Snape had missed his calling. He should've been a fashion designer. Hermione grinned up at him and he frowned. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Is the spell holding in the coat and boots your wore yesterday?"

Hermione nodded and moved past him into the hallway, kicking off her slippers as she found her boots. Severus held up her coat and slipped it onto her shoulders. Her eyes closed at the delicate skim of his fingers. Ginny had said that as her Mentoris he would show her what to strive for in a relationship. She had the horrible feeling Severus Snape would spoil her for all other men.

"Good luck with your try out today, Miss Weasley."

Hermione stared back at Ginny. She'd totally forgotten. The Holyhead Harpies had sent an open invitation over the summer, aware of the safety issues still threatening those who'd openly fought Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Ginny had decided earlier in the week that Sunday was the day. The Agreement had put it out of Hermione's thoughts. "Gin, I'm so sorry. You won't need luck though, you'll be brilliant."

The younger witch grinned at them. "Thanks. Have fun shopping." And she laughed. "Seriously, your faces."

Severus closed the kitchen door on her and urged Hermione along the dim corridor. Opening the door, they moved out into the chill of the square. She moved her hand into the crook of his arm –as she knew she should— and pressed her fingers into his sleeve. "Thank you for Ron."

He gave her a slight nod, glanced around the quiet square and pulled her in close. The touch of his mouth over hers caught her thoughts and senses as the fierce pressure of apparition twisted her.

Diagon Alley was almost as quiet as the square in which Sirius' townhouse sat. Almost. Shopkeepers bustled about, pulling back shutters, opening doors and setting out their wares. Early customers peered into just opened windows. And more than one cast a curious look in their direction.

Severus' breath heated her skin, his lips too close to her ear. Her heart thudded. Would she be able to capture this heady want with another man? Or was this simply the reaction of an inexperienced girl overwhelmed by a sophisticated man?

He stepped back and his hand took hers. He pressed his lips to her knuckles as he had the day before. "You look lovely this morning, Miss Granger." His dark eyes held her and a shine of amusement forced her insides to twist? Did he mean it, or was he mocking her? Was this another lesson? To know when a man was toying with you?

She gave him a sharp little smile. "Thank you. And you look very…dashing."

He lifted an eyebrow. "That is a new one." He folded her arm into his. "We could be a while here. Madam Athcasta –the proprietor— will feed us."

"Do we have a patron?" Her book had mentioned another witch or wizard could put money up for their expenses. Hermione knew that tradition wouldn't let her contribute, but she hated to think that she'd conned Severus into this deal and was forcing him to part with money he couldn't afford.

"Minerva. She has a pile of galleons left to her by Albus, so far untouched."

"Guilt money."

Severus didn't deny it.

A wizened and elderly wizard stopped still in the ornate doorway of Flourish and Blott's and stared. His gnarled hand went to his throat. It shook. The young witch with him took his arm as he suddenly staggered. His mouth gaped and tears glistened in his wrinkled eyes. The witch frowned at them, unsure what her friend had seen. Hermione gripped the collar of her coat, keeping it tight and up against the cold wind.

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Had that old wizard worn the ribbon? "It's going to get very strange, isn't it?" she murmured.

Severus' lips twitched and he glanced down at her. "Very strange indeed."

* * *

Madam Athcasta was a tall willowy woman with an ethereal beauty and the colouring and bearing of Narcissa Malfoy. She stood in the open doorway of her tall, thin shop, obviously waiting on them.

Her pale eyes moved over Hermione, delaying on her covered throat. Her expression didn't change from that slight sneer that seemed to say she smelt something…unpleasant. Hermione fought down the urge to bristle. Severus covered her hand with his own.

"I have put aside the day for you." Madam Athcasta's voice was lilting with a hint of a French accent. "Is this acceptable?"

Severus gave the woman a short bow. "It is. Thank you."

"I have your itinerary for the season, Professor Snape. It is not complete. I have chosen…ensembles to compliment those events I do have, for both you and Miss…Granger? Come in. Welcome." She waved a long, slender arm into the dark interior of her shop. "We have much work to do." A frown deepened her almost sneer. "Much work."

Hermione lifted her shoulders and gave the witch a polite smile. It was going to be a long,  _long_  day.

 


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Hermione shoved down the need to very politely tell Madam Athcasta where she could shove a bolt of her very expensive green silk. And chase it with the armoury of pins with which the infuriating woman had managed to stab her thirty four times.

Thirty four. Hermione had started a silent count after the fourth pin found her skin without so much as a murmured apology. She hadn't looked to Severus. She could handle this.

He sat in a deep, wing backed chair, one leg crossed over the other, his face...unrevealing. The candle light of the circular, fabric-lined fitting room limned his face and shone against the curtain of inky black hair. It was difficult not to stare at him, to  _need_  to stare at him. The memory of his touch, the lightest of kisses that had seared her lips still haunted her.

His sophistication drew her. She wanted it for herself. That complete self assurance in any situation. Craved it. And him. His confidence was magnetic.

"That I have to work with such...material."

Madam Athcasta's quiet acidity pricked as sharply as the numerous pins. Bloody woman. But it was a point of pride not to complain, and not to complain to Severus. She had the suspicion that the  _madam_  and the professor had history. After all, Athcasta tailored to the wealthiest in society, which meant purebloods, which presupposed Death Eaters...

Hermione hissed as the thirty fifth pin found her hip. All of her stoicism vanished. Enough. Bloody enough. Especially with that nasty little smirk on the witch's perfect face. "Madam, perhaps we should stop for refreshments. You're  _still_  unable to tell the difference between my skin and the silk."

The witch's mouth thinned. She stepped back. "Apologies, Miss Granger. I was not expecting such flesh there."

Severus uncurled from his chair and offered her his hand. Hermione stepped down from the podium set in the centre of the room. She drew in a breath and wanted nothing more to lean against him and have his arms wrap around her. For two hours, the hideous woman had muttered under her breath about the  _quality_  of her client, and how she was expected to show off such mutton? To have  _her_  name, a witch who had dressed the royalty of Europe, reduced to this...

"How long?" Hermione murmured, watching the ragged little house elf arrange tea and little delicacies on a high table as the odious madam swept from the room in a rush of silk and thick perfume. "I hate this place."

Severus stroked her cheek and she leant into his warm touch, wanting more, wanting him to hold her and promise that, truly it was over and they could leave. Right now. "She has finished your evening wear. Day and work wear are to follow. Then I must be outfitted."

Hermione blinked. "You. But you're already..." The word 'perfect' hovered on her lips, but she bit it back. Her face heated and his dark smile said he knew exactly the thought she'd tried to withhold.

"You will be moving in rarefied company, Hermione. I cannot disgrace you by appearing...shabby."

With a quick crack the elf disappeared and they were alone in the intimate, candlelit fitting room. Hermione's heart was in her throat, all thought of the hideous owner of the shop chased from her mind. His mouth was so close, his heat, his scent working its delicious magic on her flesh. They should show propriety in a public setting, an example of the best wizarding etiquette. But all that could go to the wind because she  _wanted_  him. "Severus..."

Impossibly, his eyes grew darker. His thumb stroked a slow,  _slow_  line under her bottom lip. "Are you trying to tempt me, little witch?"

His hot breath burned against her parted mouth. "Am I succeeding?"

Severus' soft huff of laughter tightened her heart and her need for more, more than his body and skill twisted within her. "Very nearly." He stepped back and cold air and disappointment swept over Hermione. He looked to the closed door. "Madam Athcasta returns."

"She hates me."

"Amelia can be a...difficult woman."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow, even as she crushed the swift kick of jealousy. "Amelia?"

"I trust her."

Was all he said before the woman surged back into the room. "You are to work in archives, is that correct, Miss Granger?" She snapped her fingers and pointed to the podium again. So much for a break. "You'll require something sturdy then. Spelled to resist dust and ink." She sniffed. "I understand that you'll be crawling around on dirty floors too."

Hermione pressed her lips together. "I will do whatever is needed of me."

The witch's pale eyes narrowed. "Will you?"

The edge to her voice sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine. She resisted looking to Severus. Something about it concerned him and she wanted some clue. But she doubted a former –successful— double agent would reveal anything.

"Severus, may I have my wand, please?"

Without any comment, it was presented to her, handle first. She took it and cast a quick  _Adamantinus_  over her skin, denying the witch her chance to stab her another thirty times. Severus lifted an eyebrow as she offered him her wand again. She gave him a tight little smile and stepped back onto the circular podium.

Madam Athcasta's brows had narrowed and Hermione hoped the crease there became permanent. Had the woman doubted she was a witch? "I'm ready to continue, Madam."

Her scowl cleared and her pale eyes hardened. She Summoned a bolt of dark fabric, the light catching on it reminding her of the oily sheen of Severus' teaching robes.

"I don't believe Miss Granger needs to resemble a stuffy academic, Amelia." Severus added milk to a delicate china cup. "Sensible, yet stylish. We will, after all, be of interest to the  _Daily Prophet_ , as well as other periodicals."

"As you say, Severus."

The slight remains of her accent teased around his name and Hermione ignored another hit of jealousy. Had Severus learned his skill with tailoring magic from this witch?

She closed her eyes and drew in calming breaths. Not much longer. Then she could escape.

Fabric wrapped around her, the tingle of magic cool and quick. And no pins.  _Quelle surprise_ , as the witch herself would say. In so very short a time, Madam Athcasta stepped back, her sneer back in place. Severus had reminded her that for good or ill, her creations would make an appearance in a lot of papers. Attaching her name and style to something as sacred as a ribbon-witch would force her to make an effort.

Still, Hermione wished he'd chosen another tailor.

"We are done." Madam Athcasta presented her with a slim, hardback volume. "Your hair is unnatural. There are charms within this book which can…tame it. Also spells for your skin."

Hermione blinked. She stopped her fisted hand from pressing against her chest. Had the cow sensed her glamours? Was she having a dig at her scarred skin? She took the book –because it was a book, and she never refused a book— and stepped down from the stupid platform.

She wanted to sit and eat. Her stomach growled and she didn't care that the tiny little sandwiches were slightly curled or the delicate and fancy cakes had hardened. She'd inhale the lot.

"Hermione."

Severus held out three wands. One was hers. His body's warmth still heated the wood of the smooth, ebony wand and the long Lebanese cedar. Hermione held the wands reverently. He was trusting her with them. Both of them.

She sank back into the chair Severus had sat in, his wands on her lap, her own tucked into her sleeve, the warmth and scent of him surrounding her. Wandlessly, he waved his hand down his chest, and the numerous buttons to his frock coat, slipped free. He shrugged and Madam Athcasta, standing behind, caught the loose material.

Hermione frowned. The witch's hands were on his back, stroking down as she eased the coat from him. It was blatant. Hermione looked away, even as her fingers formed fists around his wands. The smoothness of the ebony and the rich scent of the warmed cedar unexpectedly calmed the uneven thud of her heart.

His life was his own. Though it was hardly –seemly— for another witch to paw him in front of her. Athcasta murmured something and Severus replied in equally low, smooth French.

A few hard heartbeats later, Athcasta had him stood on the platform, her hands on his hips, her thumbs following the dip of his pelvis in a way that made Hermione blush. His eyebrow had risen, his expression unreadable.

Hermione fixed her attention on the tiers of delicate little pastries and sandwiches. She willed herself not to think of that witch's hands on him. She had to think of something -anything- else. She had no idea he was so fluent in French. Yet more of his sophistication. She almost winced as she ate. Everything about him drew her…but what —if anything— would draw him to  _her_? An eager-to-please know-it-all. And usually she had all the subtlety of a bludger to the face.

Earlier, she truly believed she was tempting him, finding him as wanting of her as she was of him. But how much of it was real? He was her Mentoris. Her teacher. It was his  _role_  to seduce her.

The pastry in her mouth soured. Was  _any_ of his interest in her real?

* * *

"Please say that we never, never  _ever_  have to do that again?"

Hermione flopped into the deep, plump sofa dominating the larger reception room of Prince Albert Mansions. Gret scuttled forward with tea and she could've kissed him. "Thank you, Gret." She smiled at him and his face reddened, his ears flicking.

Severus accepted a cup. "Madam Athcasta has your measurements—"

"And yours," Hermione muttered, her cup at her lips, watching over the rim as he sank back into a nearby chair. She crushed the thought that he would go back to the loathsome witch for more of her obvious touches...

"So it should be unnecessary. The bulk of your ensembles—"

" _Please_ , shoes and frocks."

Severus mouth thinned. "If you could refrain from interrupting me."

Hermione blushed, the hot rise of anger and bitterness still chasing through her blood. "Sorry. That woman…" She shuddered. "My clothes will be kept here? Even magically, I couldn't fit so many in my room in Grimmauld Place."

"Yes. Gret has retrieved them. Work wear will go home with you for the week." His head tilted. "You still plan to move here on Friday."

"Oh, gods, yes. I'm sure Mrs Weasley plans to make my life hell from now on."

"But not tonight."

"No."

She took another sip of her tea to deny the sudden tremor in her hands. She wanted to ask more, a host of question burned on her tongue, but every single one of them would show her inexperience. The book had said little. It had mentioned the first sharing of a bed, which had to happen quickly after the ribbon was placed. But nothing more. Would they simply sleep? Or was tonight the night she stopped being a virgin? The Mentoris' judgement trumped everything. Did Severus believe she was ready?

She put her cup down and glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was barely eight. She had to do something. "I'm going to change and disappear into the library."

"As you wish."

She smiled and all but ran from the room. She hated that she had no idea what she was doing. And that her one source of information, of experience would simply look at her with a sly tilt to his mouth and amused eyes. It also didn't help that there was an almost permanent hum to her flesh. And a desire to fling herself on him given the slightest invitation.

He expected her to initiate…something. She simply wished she knew that that something was.

The room she'd chosen was on the lower floor, which also held a vast space with its own, angled reception room and to the back, a large kitchen. Gret was bustling about before a new set of doors in her bedroom. He smiled at her.

"I made your bathroom smaller. Not so much, but enough. You need space for your clothes." He opened the pale, double doors to reveal a whole room dedicated to her new dresses, work and formal robes, shoes, under things, casual clothes, all pristine and colour-co-ordinated. The light scent of vanilla and jasmine warmed the air. Her scents. "Do you approve, Miss?"

"A work of art," She moved, walking into the space lit –it seemed— by natural daylight. A large mirror bifurcated one wall, reflecting the room back at her. "Is this a magical mirror?"

"No, Miss." There was a curtness to Gret's voice. "Magical mirrors are nasty things."

"Thank you. I've never liked them either." They had always had too much to say about her hair.

"Does Miss need anything else?"

"No, thank you, Gret. And this is wonderful."

The little elf beamed at her. "You are special. You deserve my best."

"You know I'm muggle-born." She flexed her hands, aware that she could easily upset the house-elf with her ignorance. She'd done it enough times, to other elves, in the past. "And I'm still working my way through wizarding traditions. Can you tell me why this," she touched her ribbon and it hummed under her fingertips, "pleases house elves so much?"

"You are protecting us. So many creatures. Witches and wizards." Gret's ears flicked, and he pressed his long fingers into a knot before the curve of his belly. "Bad wizards can use you against us. Miss is of age. Unbedded. Your blood. Your bones are vicious. Can make of us such creatures." He shuddered, his ears flat to his head. "As ribboned-witch, you are not allowing it. You want us as we are."

"Thank you," Hermione murmured, slightly stunned.

The elf nodded and with a crack was gone.

"Brightest witch of my age." She snorted and kicked off her transfigured boots. There was a whole underbelly to her world about which she knew nothing.

Stripping down, she showered and took time rubbing her lotions into her skin. Her fingers paused over the still raw and ragged scar cut into her arm. She'd hidden it with a thick glamour for the odious Madam Athcasta. Should she do the same for Severus? And for Dolohov's scar or the thin sliver slice cut into the neck? Glamours coated them all.

Severus was a brilliant wizard. Would he feel the magic covering her skin? Question her? Be horrified? She pulled on her pyjamas and found thick socks to warm her toes. Had she held back from intimacy because of her scars? She'd always told herself she'd get around to a boyfriend, a relationship,  _sex_  one day. And there  _had_  been a world to save from a maniacal wizard first…

Yet everyone else –even as the world turned to shit— seemed to find love. Or at least another warm body. She hadn't. The  _Prophet_  had hinted at her promiscuity after the war's end, especially when it came out that she'd travelled for almost a year with two hormonal boys.

She shivered, bile rising at the thought. They'd had barely enough food. Were always afraid, often lost and darkened by that insane locket. They also stank. Ron's socks in particular could curdle milk. She didn't doubt that living with Ron for a year in such conditions had killed practically all of her interest in him.

Hermione dried and charmed her hair, fighting it back into something that at least stayed off her face and headed off to the library.

She'd been so excited about her new job. They would be paying her to scour books. It was her dream. But since Friday night, she'd hardly given it a thought. She flushed, feeling guilty. She was certain, once everything settled down, it would all be fine.

Now she just had to get her night with Severus out of her thoughts.

* * *

"Hermione."

She looked up from her sprawl on the soft, deep rug before the dwindling fire, a gentle ball of light illuminating her open book. Severus had entered the room, unseen, unheard. Her heart gave a painful thud. The immaculate wizard had vanished. He came to her in only trousers and shirt sleeves, three buttons undone at the throat. The fire flickered gold and shadows against his pale skin and the sudden urge, the need, to dip her mouth into the open, tempting vee, to kiss and lick, burned up through her flesh.

His mouth lifted at the corner and he offered his hand. "Time for bed," he murmured.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Hermione fought the instinct to scramble to her feet and instead, closed her book, dropped it onto a nearby table and smiled at him. Even as her pulse hammered and her mind felt as though she would fly apart. She glanced to the clock. Just after eleven. Time had flown.

Severus waved for her to precede him. "What had you so enraptured?" His voice low and warm, surrounding her and a shiver flowed over her skin.

"My department head, Augustus Beggin said that I should make myself familiar with the workings of the Ministry. Departments, their history…"

"But you weren't doing that." It wasn't a question.

"I was…earlier." She blushed and led the way out of the library. "Then I found a book on advanced charms and I was lost." She pressed her hands together. "I have to brush my teeth." She drew in a steadying breath so that she didn't stutter. "Where's your bedroom, Severus?"

'The end of this corridor." He stroked her cheek, catching a loosened curl. "My door will be open."

Hermione didn't know whether she should run or dawdle. Instead, she backed away with an unsteady smile and took deliberate, slow steps to the floor below. Then she ran, racing across reception room, along the corridor, into her bedroom and skidding into her bathroom.

She leant against her sink, finding her breath and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, but wide and nervous. Was she going to sleep with him? Stupid book for being so vague.

Getting hold of her panic, she shoved it down and set about cleaning her teeth. She splashed water on her face to cool her hot cheeks, dried them, found her wand and set off upstairs.

Her stomach was a knot. Damn it, she shouldn't be this nervous. She'd survived torture under Bellatrix Lestrange, had ridden a mad, half-blind dragon, had helped to take down one of the darkest wizards of all time. She was a  _Gryffindor_ , for Merlin's sake.

"Hermione, make yourself comfortable."

But none of that bravery counted or helped when faced with a half-naked Severus Snape. He lounged in his bathroom doorway, his chest bare and wearing only pyjama bottoms. He waved his toothbrush at her, and towards the large four-poster bed dominating the room.

She jerked a nod. The soft light from the room's candles played across his skin. Alabaster white with a dusting trail of ebony hair and honed in the lines of a sculpture of a Spartan warrior. Silver stood out against his perfection. Scars. Criss-crossing patterns. Perfect circles. A starburst of silver under his right rib. Great slashing claw marks. The faded lines of his Dark Mark, cut deep into his forearm. The savagery of Nagini's bite… What he had suffered under Voldemort made her war efforts seem paltry. And there was the trait she admired in him. He didn't give a damn what the world thought. That she had seen his war-marked skin.

Hermione closed her eyes and murmured an end to her glamours.

With a softly spoken spell, most of the flickering candles faded down to glowing wicks. Severus padded across the room on silent feet, Hermione tracking his every step. And she couldn't hold back her questions any longer. Exposure, be damned. She had to know what he had planned.

"The book you gave me wasn't clear. What will happen tonight, Severus?"

He stood beside the bed, tall, lean, his hair loose around his shoulders, skin as pale as a ghost, but his eyes were pools of heated darkness. Under the sheets, her hands clenched into fists to stop her tremors.

A smile lifted his lips. "You will still be a virgin in the morning, Hermione. I won't be as crass as to take you now."

Relief and an unexpectedly raging disappointment surged through her. "So we'll simply sleep?"

His smile darkened and her belly swooped. "More than simply."

The bed dipped as he climbed in and Hermione kept her breathing even. She'd fallen asleep on Harry before, so –technically— she'd done this. But now…

"Relax, Hermione." He turned on his side and held up his hand. "Lie next to me, your back to my chest. I will hold you."

She wriggled across the wide bed until she was only inches from him. She stared ahead into the darkness, aware of his alien heat even through the covering of her pyjamas.

A large hand took her hip and his breath stirred her hair. "Closer…"

Hermione bit her lip and wriggled again, Severus' soft laughter making her face burn. She hit a solid mass and stilled. His arm angled across her hip to slide his hand up between her breasts, as his chin nestled against her braided hair. His strong thigh pushed between hers and she pressed her hand to her mouth to deny a gasp at the brush of thick muscle against her legs.

"There you are," he murmured, his sinful voice dangerously soft. "You should always be held when you sleep. Magics entwine and offer peaceful dreams."

"We're…?"

"Sleeping, Hermione." He pressed a kiss to her hair. Her eyes closed at the almost affectionate gesture. "Sleep."

She drew in a deep slow breath, Severus' arm moving with her, the wrap of him strong and hot around her body strange, but delicious. Warm, with his now familiar scent surrounding her, she felt the surprising tug of sleep.

It pulled her down and under, her dreams filled with her wandering the light-filled flat, finding the library –expanded to the size of Hogwarts' own— the fire roaring in the hearth, and Severus sat before the golden blaze. He was dressed simply, as he had been, discreetly opened shirt and dark trousers. His feet were bare. He looked up from the book he was reading, his dark eyes warm and gold-touched from the fire. A smile lifted his lips.

"Hermione…" Had he spoken?

A lick of pleasure rose up over her belly and she hissed. Her body felt heavy and something was changing. The enveloping heat wasn't the fire, but sheets and arms and a man's hard, strong body. Parchment and freshly cut grass. She breathed it in and her heart drummed. Her eyelids fluttered. "Severus?"

"Good morning."

His voice was sultry, still thickened by sleep and it teased the pleasure beginning to fill her flesh. Something brushed her nipple and she gasped. Severus' hand was under her shirt, palming her breast, his thumb stroking rhythmically over the hard peak.

She should stop him, it wasn't… What? Right? Proper? It was very much both of those things. And more. She'd wanted this. Had wanted it for a long time.

His other arm skimmed her hip and he pressed his large hand low on her belly, holding her to him. His clothed erection pressed against her backside. He nuzzled her neck. "You taste sweet, little witch."

She melted against him and moved with the slow, smooth rocking of his hips. Her hand covered his as he drew patterns over the material of her pyjamas.

Slight pressure urged him lower, even as her heart slammed in her chest. He'd said they'd simply sleep. Was she taking advantage of him in his half-sleep? Was he of her? Had she only thought he'd said her name? Did he know  _who_  was in his bed? His long fingers stroked over her mons and all her questions and guilt fell away. Her only regret was that he didn't have his hand against her bare flesh.

Heat coiled in her belly as he nipped and licked and sucked the curve of her neck. Her thoughts span, the sensation he drove through her hotter and harder that anything she had managed to find on her own. His finger teased above her sex and she gasped, pushing back against him.

His warm laughter brushed her shoulder. "Sensitive?"

She hummed her agreement, not wanting to break the moment, in case he didn't know who he touched with such brilliantly clever hands.

"Just how sensitive?" Velvet darkness wove around his words and without a sound, her pyjamas vanished.

Hermione gasped, her skin on fire, his chest against her back, his muscled arms wrapped around her, teasing her nipple and his other hand slipping further between her legs. Her heart rocketed. Was this a part of The Agreement, this…overwhelming rush at the slid of his skin against hers? The satin smooth, mixed with the alien brush of hair, heat and scent.

Her breath came out in short pants now, her thoughts swirling as his fingers played, and slipped…and did something that sparked enough fire in her veins to melt metal… Hermione crushed her eyes shut, willing the tightness, the tension to break and what she knew, now, would follow to burst over her. Her hand crushed his. Working him faster, deeper—

A cry burst from her, startled, wild, her body bucking back against his as a brilliant white blast of heat swept over her flesh. For a moment, all thought was wiped away. Perfect,  _perfect_  golden peace.

"Fuck."

Hermione bit her lip. Yes, Severus had just remembered who was in his bed.

* * *

Severus rolled onto his back and pressed his hand to his face. His pulse hammered and his dick was aching, and Merlin save him, she was eager and right  _there_. He groaned. Fuck, she was all over his fingers. The scent of her temptingly sweet arousal brushed against the corner of his mouth. His lips parted, his tongue almost,  _almost_ … He wouldn't taste her. He couldn't.

What sort of Mentoris –what sort of  _man_ — was he?

Severus swore under his breath and fought to regain control of his traitorous body. Virgins. He should stay far, far away from virgins. "Hermione." His voice was little more than a croak. He swallowed and his eyes refused to open. He couldn't face her. Not yet. "Hermione, did I hurt you?"

The bed shifted under him, evidence of her movement on the mattress. He flinched at the small hand that pressed to his cheek, frowning as her wet finger traced his lips, drawing their complete shape. "Lick."

He opened his mouth to object, finding the will to look at her. Her eyes were fierce, her jaw set. She really was a bossy little thing.

"Lick."

He did and the sweetness of her powered through him. He swore, his hips shifting. He pushed down the very real need to fist his hand around his dick. "Fuck, girl." He stared at her, probably wide eyed. She'd painted herself on his mouth and that thought tightened the coil of want in his gut.

"I saw you." She twitched a smile, propping herself up on the pillow beside him, her naked little body stretched out against his, all soft, scented curves and tempting heat. "You wanted to taste me. I obliged."

"You  _obliged_?" The gods had to save him from forthright Gryffindor innocence.

She gave him a bright little grin. "I thought I tasted rather nice."

Severus pinched his eyes, welcoming the pain. And here he was worried about hurting her when she planned to kill him.

"Severus. It was good just now. I liked it. A lot."

Uncertainty rippled through her voice and he cursed himself again. He was meant to be taking care of her. He wrapped an arm around her, forcing a squeak as he pulled her to his side. He pressed a kiss to the tangle of her morning hair, the lingering scent of jasmine warming him. "I…" Fuck, he hadn't thought how their time together would open him up to her. "I am not used to sharing a bed. And when I do…"

"Your hands wander."

His face was hot. He was glad the little witch was tucked under his chin so he could avoid a witness to his embarrassment. At least his mortification had  _deflated_  his needs. "It was not planned, Hermione."

"Severus…" She pressed a kiss –quick, hesitant— to his skin, her fingers lightly running through the dark hair smattering his chest and an unexpected ache ran through him. Her affection kept catching him out. "It was a very good way to wake up." Her eyelashes brushed his skin and the delicate touch jumped his pulse. He cursed Molly Weasley. In fact, the first chance he had he would  _curse_  Molly Weasley…

"Has my ribbon changed?"

He looked down his nose at the girl, her wild hair obscuring her face. "No one will know. What we decide to do together is a private matter."

She pressed her chin against his chest, frowning up at him. "But I thought this," her fingers brushed the length of silk and Severus fought not to swallow as a soft thread of pleasure wound through his veins, "was all about display."

"The decision is mine. I had no wish for you to have the wizarding equivalent of hanging out a bloody sheet."

Her face reddened, her eyes dropping from his. Fuck, what had he said now? Why did he take her –this— on? Because of pride, because of watching the po-faced members of the Order of the Phoenix wrap their minds around the fact that he would have a sweet young thing all to himself…

For  _three months_. The Granger girl wasn't  _his_. Would never  _be_  his. When her time with him was up, the very second after, she'd hare off into the pack that would no doubt have hounded her… Damn Minerva for not doing her duty. As distasteful as it was, perhaps Lupin should have Magistered her. Though the thought of the mangy wolf being anywhere near her twisted and soured his gut.

"Hermione." He cupped her hot cheek and offered a short smile. He had courted the Dark Lord for years. He could work out how not to crush a nineteen year old girl. Though he had never wanted to roll Voldemort over and find bliss between his thighs… He shuddered against that horrific image. "Would you want our every move, every intimate touch to be shown at your throat?"

"No." She pressed a kiss to his palm and he almost flinched. "But I didn't know that was an option. The book on The Agreement is so thin as to almost have no information."

"You have the basics already." He didn't need to repeat them. This was Hermione Granger. Everything he said would be tattooed under her eyelids. "The only thing you have to accept is the attention your ribbon will bring. From the press and from men."

A line formed over her nose and he had the urge to smooth it away. He stopped himself. Understanding rose in her clear, brown eyes and was that a touch of distaste? Or his wishful thinking? Shit, he had to get out of bed, away from her, away from her warm soft skin pressed down the length of his body.  _Fuck_ …

"I would be ready. Primed." She curled her lip. "Is that what they do? Slaver after a recently unribboned-witch?"

"Some believe a newly experienced witch –or wizard— is all the sweeter. Better than doing the job themselves." He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Almost seven. Ministry drones punched in at nine. "Time to get ready for the archives."

She flushed, a smile curving her mouth. "I completely forgot." She eased herself away from him and his skin chilled at the loss of contact. She stilled and looked down at herself. Her flush deepened. "You vanished my pyjamas."

Severus knew he shouldn't, but his gaze lingered on her sweet little breasts and dark nipples. His mouth watered. But then he frowned. Her skin was cursed. A scar cutting down between her breasts, over her ribs to end above her navel. And her arm. Anger rose in him, hot and quick. Someone had dared to carve her up, dig 'Mudblood' into her flesh.

He drew in a calming breath, the need to slice hexes too fierce in his blood. "Who?"

She blinked and then something like shame moved though her eyes. No. He would not have this girl feeling guilty for the depravity of others.

"Hermione, who marked you?"

* * *

_Shit, shit, shit._  The golden light of the room was brighter than she thought, or he was simply more observant. He'd been a spy for decades. Of course, he was observant. Panic threaded through her and she wanted nothing more than to run, to wrap herself up like a mummy and hide in her room.

His gaze was fierce and anger moved through him. Did he not want her now? Her scars had kept her from others. Would they now keep the one man she wanted from her?

She pulled in her courage, but she couldn't hold his eyes, instead staring at the sheet her hand fisted. He'd asked a question. She would answer it before mortification completely swamped her. "The chest scar I received at the Ministry in my fifth year." She drew in a long breath, knowing that she would be dead if not for Severus' warning the Order of Harry's hair-brained plan to rescue a phantom Sirius Black. Whilst that man had sat safe –and unknowing— in Grimmauld Place. "Anton Dolohov."

She squeaked as Severus pressed his lips to the pointed edge of the scar cutting across her collarbone. Heat burned over her skin and she tried to catch her breath. She couldn't. Severus pushed her back into the pillows, his mouth sure as he traced the line with his lips, his tongue.

"You wear glamours. Yet you removed them."

_Because of you._  The words seared the tip of her tongue, but all thought was disintegrating under the fierce heat of his mouth. Down, down, between her breasts –and the sudden ache in her nipples forced a gasp— but he gave them no attention. Still, the silky coolness of his hair feathered over taut peaks and Hermione bit down on a knuckle to quieten her cry.

Would another man do this? Accept her scars? Kiss them? She ached to thread her fingers through his hair, give him a mere hint of the attention that he was lavishing on her.

And he didn't stop. Over her ribs and down to her belly. Her sex ached and she wanted, she wanted to urge him further, to have that beautiful mouth taste her fully...

Severus looked up, his lips shining, his hair deliciously mussed, dark eyes hot and wanton. "You trusted me with your secret."

"I trust  _you_." And she always had –though she had to admit there had been a wobble over his part in Dumbledore's death. "I always will."

He looked away to her arm, changing position, pulling her to him as he lay on his side, so that they were level. He took her hand, teasing his fingers down over the ripped skin, still not quite healed. "Who did this?"

"Bellatrix."

His gaze narrowed, a hard line furrowing between his brows. "The same blade scored your neck."

She nodded, her mouth dry as, with his eyes fixed on hers, he pressed his lips to the first letter. Her nipples practically drilled holes into his chest, the heat and brush of skin and hair dancing over her senses. The need to hook her leg over his hip and grind herself against him was tight in her flesh.

"You survived. Survived them. They're howling beyond the veil…and you're here, naked and on the brink of ecstasy."

His voice wove through her and her mind spun. "The best revenge is to live well."

He grinned against her arm. "Exactly." He pressed the final kiss to the ragged 'D' and moved to drop a chaste kiss against her mouth. "With me, your glamours can stay off. If you wish."

She threw her arms around him and hugged him. Hard. He stilled before he awkwardly held her. Hermione closed her eyes, her face tucked against his neck and denied the raw heat in her eyes. She would not cry. She could be herself with him. No hiding. Just herself, scars and all.

"Hermione, time moves on."

She pressed a kiss to his neck and drew back. She willed herself not to be embarrassed, to be the cool, calm witch he wanted…but she'd probably destroyed any hope of that with her wild hugging. "Thank you, Severus."

He gave her a brief nod, his eyes shuttered. "Use a sheet to return to your room."

And he was out of his –their— bed and disappearing into his bathroom before she could blink.

For a moment, and because he was in another room, Hermione buried her face in his pillow. She breathed in his scent, the hints of herbs that seemed to cling to him and overlaid by the warmth of old books. It stirred something in her, some memory she couldn't quite grasp…

The clock struck the half hour. She swore. Shower, dressing and breakfast. Now.


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

Gret dropped a copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  on the table and with a soft little pop, vanished.

Hermione teased her fingers over the rolled paper, reluctant to see what the wizarding world was reading about her that morning. She glanced up to find Severus watching her over the rim of his cup. A blush warmed her face. "I should just read it, shouldn't I?"

"You'll be prepared, and ready to defend or deny what everyone  _thinks_  they know about you."

"You'll have me a Slytherin by Christmas."

He snorted and placed his cup in its saucer. "Those of my House are born not made."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but a smile lurked on her lips. "Is that an insult?"

"Open your paper, Hermione."

Taking a calming breath, she unrolled the paper, a flick of her wand flattening it and easing back the creases. A fist tightened in her chest. Fuck.  _Fuck_.

The front page was plastered with the moving image of them both in Diagon Alley. It wasn't the fact that they had been caught there, it was the private moment revealed. A few seconds of which she had hardly been aware. Her arm through his, Severus' hand over hers, with the flash of his ring an effect no doubt added by the paper. He looked stern, imposing, staring off out of the photograph, whilst she,  _she_ , looked up at him as if she were a besotted mooncalf. An endless five second loop of her with a vacuously dreamy expression.

And the article itself didn't help.

_The Return of the Ribbon and Ring?_

_Plain but ambitious girl, Hermione Granger, has every tongue wagging as she appeared on the arm of former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and holder of the Order of Merlin, First Class, Britain's foremost Potions Master, Severus Snape._

_More surprising than Miss Granger's cosying up to yet another famous wizard —it is her speciality— was the sighting of a ribbon at her throat. Can it be true? Is this really the ancient rite resurrected? Or simply a fashion accessory in very bad taste?_

_For more on the sacred rite of wearing the Ribbon, see page 2. For Hermione Granger's past conquests, see page 3,4 and 5._

"Oh, that absolute…cow!" Hermione's fingers clenched into fists over the paper, resisting the urge to scrunch it into a ball, to set fire to it, to track down and hex Rita Skeeter to within an inch of her life.

Severus pulled the paper free from her trembling hands. He frowned.

Hermione closed her eyes. Tears pricked and her throat was tight. Was he disgusted at the image, of her giving all the appearance of an airheaded girl in the throes of a major crush?

"She goes too far."

His voice was little more than a growl, the contained fury running a shiver through her. Her morning had had a blissful start, waking with Severus —and  _everything_  that followed. Gret helping with her hair and clothes so that she actually looked presentable. But now this. Skeeter seemed determined to make her wearing of the Ribbon a lie.

"She's never liked me." She winced and her laugh was bitter. "Plus the fact that I kept her in a jar for month. And blackmailed her."

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "Taking into account Marietta Edgecombe and the ever-lovely Dolores Umbridge, I've changed my mind." His smile was sharp and she stared at him, confused. "Welcome to Slytherin, Miss Granger."

Hermione broke out in laughter. "Three offences and I'm in?"

"Indeed."

Her smile faded as she looked to the paper in his hands. "I knew she would try to sully this." She stroked her ribbon and twitched an apologetic smile as Severus' chest lifted. He was connected to her via the ribbon? Would she have the same reaction if she touched the ring he wore? She pushed down the rising questions. It wasn't the time for her to race off with tangential thoughts. "I didn't think she'd all but call me a liar. If she questions me, than she questions your role." She shook her head. "Bloody woman!"

Severus glanced at his pocket watch. "We must get you to the Ministry." He rose, as lithe and elegant as always, and Hermione fought not to stare at him. No more vacuous expressions. "You have done nothing wrong. You are a ribboned-witch." He tilted her chin up, a brief smile curving his mouth. "In the circumstances, I believe we should move your relocation forward. Grimmauld Place is not for you when there are people there who would happily play with these lies."

Her belly did that crazy little flip-flop and it was suddenly so very hard to breathe. "From tonight?"

"I will collect you from the Ministry, return with you to collect your belongings and escort you back here."

Hermione pushed back her chair and willed her courage. She pressed her lips together as words flittered through her thoughts. None of them seemed…right. So she went for simple. He'd probably rescind her offer into Slytherin… "Thank you, Severus. For this. For  _all_  of this. I've turned your life upside down—"

"For a short time only."

He turned away and Hermione pulled in a quick, steadying breath. The five words stabbed her. Was he offering some sort of strange consolation – that everything would soon blow over? Or was it an oblique comment on her expression caught forever on the front of the  _Prophet_? Whatever way he meant it, it had hurt her. The days were already counting down to him leaving.

"Witch, not muggle. Witch not muggle. Witch…" She muttered the words to herself, over and over as she returned to her room to gather the last of her things.

Gret beamed at her, his magic holding up the velvet coat she'd transfigured. "You will look perfect today, Miss. Gret sealed your very fine magic. It will last a good while now."

"Thank you." She slipped the coat onto her shoulders, the lining smooth, the velvet collar blissfully soft against her skin. "Beautifully done, Gret."

"While you're out, I will be getting rid of  _that_." He frowned at Madam Athcasta's book still sitting on Hermione's dressing table. "Nasty book. Gret knows better charms. As you see." He waved a long-fingered hand over her and lifted his pointy chin. "Master Snape said you will be staying every day. It would be an honour to prepare you, Miss."

Her gaze fixed on the book. She hadn't cracked it open. She had to admit, she'd been reluctant. Mainly because of the witch that had gifted it. Was it so very bad? She considered its source. Very possibly. And Gret shared her views on magical mirrors. "The honour's mine, Gret."

His grin split his flattened little face. With a snap of his fingers, the book vanished. "Thank you, Miss."

"Ready?"

Severus stood in the doorway to her bedroom. Had he witnessed the vanishing of his friend's book? There was nothing in his manner nor in his gaze that said that he had, but then this was Severus Snape. No one ever knew what he was thinking…

Hermione twitched a smile and nodded. "I'm to rise above the libellous and slanderous falsehoods that'll be made about me?"

"Of course." His smile was dark, twisted and her heart beat a little bit too fast. "You will be seen to be…exemplary."

_Seen_. As in not caught. She grinned at him as he waved her through to the sitting room and the vast fireplace. "Are you meant to be encouraging such things?"

He peered into the floo pot on the mantle. "Encouraging you to be an upstanding member of society? Naturally." His dark eyes sparked and Merlin save her, she wanted to kiss him again. "When I'm finished, you will be above reproach. The perfect role model for every young witch." He smirked at her, something devilishly wicked. "And from then on, Merlin protect every single wizard. Young and old."

He tossed the floo powder into the cold fireplace and called out for the Ministry atrium. A heartbeat later, he vanished in a swirl of green flame. Hermione took a breath, flung her powder and followed him into the network.

Severus' hand caught her as she stumbled, his wand making quick work of the ash that clung to her. He slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. "Ready?"

She gave him a quick smile. "Wizards beware."

"Just so."

The great open space burst with people, the floos churning out yet more into the massing throngs of workers heading to their offices. "I'm somewhere in the bowels." She dug into her bag, Severus shielding her from the pressing crowds.

He glanced over the parchment. "I know this place. Come."

Hermione's stomach cramped as they moved away from the floos. Severus was so distinctive; he couldn't be mistaken for anyone else. Where people looking at her too? Judging her? Believing the  _Prophet's_  lies?

"You are a ribboned-witch." His murmur cut through her rising panic. His hand closed around hers, warm and strong. "What anyone else thinks is beneath you."

"Beneath me," she repeated, wanting to drill it into her mind, but more than one witch had stopped now, eyes narrowed on her throat. A flicker of magic, shimmering, and murmured conversations simply vanished. She squeezed his hand. "Absolutely."

He led the way towards a bank of lifts, the crowds now parting before him. A twitch of a dark smile pulled at his mouth and Hermione had to admit, war hero or not, he still had the power to terrify. It was little surprise then that wizards and witches scurried out of the lift, and that she and Severus –plus a few hovering memos- had it to themselves as they shot off down to Archives.

All too soon, she was walking down a darkly tiled corridor, the flicker of candles adding little warmth to the chilled air. Severus was a shadow beside her, but everything about him was warm and wanted. Hermione shoved down her muggle sensibilities, her fingers curling into her palms. She was a witch. And a witch kept to The Agreement.

"Nervous?"

She let out a soft laugh. "I haven't given the job a single thought for days."

"Other things on your mind?"

His quiet, velvet-wrapped statement heated her face. "Unexpectedly, yes."

She followed Severus around a darkened corner and they stopped before heavy, double doors. Sconces cast a wavering, golden light. The word 'Archives' was written above the doors in ten languages, of which only three were human. She drew in a deep breath. This was it. Her new job.

Severus stroked a line along her jaw, something almost tender and her heart twisted. "There is only a witch such as you once in a generation. You are more than ready for whatever is beyond those doors." His finger curled away and Hermione had to stop herself from stumbling forward, chasing his touch. "Remember, you are the first ribboned-witch in more than thirty years. Wizardkind is in shock. The shocked react in odd ways. As with Madam Athcasta you will be polite, elegant, but when pushed too far, you will…take measures." His dark eyes sparked with something like wickedness. " Is this understood?"

So the odious Madam Athcasta had been a test. Evil man. Hermione straightened her shoulders. "And the touching. Can I shake hands?"

Severus' mouth thinned. "No. Older wizards will respect your status. Younger ones will see it as a game. On the third insistence, hex them."

Hermione snorted and pressed her hand to her face at the inelegant sound. "Should I put my order in for my black robes now? You plan to mould me into you."

He lifted a dark, imperious eyebrow. "I am an excellent role model."

"You are indeed."

Severus slid her a look before he drew out his wand and stroked it over the wood of the doors. "For visitors," he murmured. And a few seconds later the clanging sound of bolts and chains echoed around the corridor. "This place at least will keep you safe from the  _Prophet's_ readership."

Hermione winced. That was true. If she had followed Harry into becoming an Auror, where even his training took him out into the world, the attention would have been horrendous.

"Miss Granger, welcome!" Augustus Beggin swept out from the open doors in vivid robes, a wide smile on his face. He rocked to a stop before her and clasped his heavy hands to his rounded stomach. His face pinked. Bright blue eyes skittered across her throat. He bowed his head. "Of course, of course, I read of your decision this morning." He transferred his bright smile to Severus and gave another short bow. "Professor Snape, always a pleasure. In fact, we have the Rugen Papers in. Finally." He waved back into the Archive. "If you would both come with me?"

Severus took her hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. "Until this evening, Miss Granger."

And he swept his way into the vast hall, leaving her with her heart in her throat and her face hot. She willed herself not to stare after him. Witch not muggle. And definitely no relation to a vacuous mooncalf.

That was the last she saw of him for the day.

Almost. Except for the duel.


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

* * *

Severus sat back in the hard-padded chair and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He'd been waiting on the Rugens since before Tom Riddle was so much dust. It was a miracle that Augustus had tracked down such an intact copy…and yet his thoughts were very firmly  _not_  with the no doubt priceless collection of papers.

And though it was closing in on noon, the reading room was still empty. Only his table was lit, the rest of the long, vaulted room falling to shadow. He'd often wished for this. Rare papers and this almost unknown stillness and silence.

He groaned and stretched his shoulders. His thoughts were with the little witch scurrying about in the vast shelves beyond his room. The feel of her soft skin still moved against his fingers and her taste –though he had washed and shaved and scrubbed his teeth— burned against his lips. Did all Mentoris suffer this and walk away? Then they were better men than he.

He spelled a reservation over the Rugens and pushed himself to his feet. He was doing himself no good. And he had yet more events to schedule. Until another ribboned-witch or wizard presented themselves to the world,  _they_  would be the sought after couple.

Augustus caught him as he left the reading room. The rotund little man clasped his hand, grinning up at him. "I wore the ribbon myself," he beamed and Severus hated the fact that every ribbon-wearer would seek him out now. "It's a fine tradition. My Mentoris," he sighed and his bright eyes grew misty, "lovely man. And after everything…for a muggle-born to be the first. And you being war heroes. You're both a shining,  _shining_  example."

"Thank you, Augustus." And another problem of taking on such a public and sacred role. He couldn't be himself. He had to be bloody  _polite_. "Please reserve the Rugens for me for tomorrow. I have business this afternoon."

"Of course, of course." Augustus' wide smile dimmed. "I had to turn away the Skeeter woman just now. She had the specious excuse of research, but I know she was here to seek out Miss Granger."

Severus stilled. "How long ago?"

"Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. I have little doubt she will try to accost Miss Granger when she leaves for lunch."

"Thank you, again, Augustus."

Severus nodded, refused to admit to himself that he was searching the labyrinth of towering, dark wood stacks for the little witch –and not finding her— and headed for the doors. Bolts and locks pulled back and the massive doors creaked open.

Rita Skeeter stood straight, hands running over her hips to straighten out the non-existent creases in her narrow skirt. She tottered forward, a sharp grin on her face and her ever-present quill flickering away at her shoulder. "Severus! How marvellous that you're here. Have you spent the morning with Hermione?"

He walked past her, measured in his strides to draw the blasted woman away from the Archives. "It's Miss Granger's first day. A rare work became available, one I've waited on for a while now." The lift doors opened and Severus waved her inside.

"I'm—" Skeeter glanced back down the shadowed corridor.

"Miss Granger is not yet available to interview." He gave her one of his thin smiles, one that had made even Bellatrix pause. "I  _insist_."

Skeeter's hard mask -her true face- settled on her features. "I'm not scared of you, Severus Snape." She lifted her chin and marched into the empty lift.

"How confident you are," he murmured and pressed the button for Atrium. What he had planned needed to be public. Very public.

"Why now? Why her?" Skeeter stood too close, the thick, cloying scent of honey and jasmine rolling off her in waves. Severus fought back a grimace.

Skeeter stood too close, the thick, cloying scent of honey and jasmine rolling off her in waves. Severus fought back a grimace. "Miss Skeeter." He warmed a smile and was pleased to note the involuntary hint of pink work its way into her cheeks. He wasn't handsome -he would never claim to be- but he had something, something that worked on women. If he ever discovered what it was, he'd synthesise it, bottle it and make a fortune. "If you wish to talk, I don't believe this lift is the best place for such a conversation."

His observation was born out by three wizards bustling into the lift. Though one look at Skeeter and then him, it was certain they wished they'd grabbed another car. Severus wondered whom they feared more.

The lift pinged and the doors opened up onto the Atrium. Severus ushered Skeeter out. Before the fountain seemed like an excellent place for their…chat. "Miss Granger was unaware of the danger her virginity presented."

Skeeter stopped, staring up at him, though her quill and pad were already bouncing and scribbling. She touched a taloned finger to her bright red lips and her eyes narrowed. "A witch celebrated for her intelligence, for her knowledge and she didn't know something so basic?" The journalist's eyes glittered. "I find that very hard to believe."

Already a thin crowd was starting to form, more people would thicken it soon, he was certain. He straightened his cuffs. "She spent her time at Hogwarts keeping herself and Mr Potter alive. There was hardly time for her to pursue other matters."

"So she caught your eye there?"

Severus gave a huff of laughter. "Between Dumbledore and Voldemort," his lip curled at the startled gasp of the growing crowd, "I was kept very busy simply trying to stay alive too." He touched his throat in a deliberate reminder. "I almost failed."

"Is that how his affair began, Severus? Was Hermione Granger the one to save you?"

"Miss Granger had a Dark Lord to kill and a school to protect."

"Then you  _came_  together," her lips twitched, "when she was hiding out in Harry Potter's secret house?" She flicked her fingers. "It's not as if I –and therefore my lovely readers— don't know about his house in London."

"I accepted the role of Mentoris on Friday."

Skeeter leant in. "How did you do it, Severus? Really? She has a ribbon and you have what passes for a ring. It can't be real. Not for her."

The crowd was big enough now -–at least eight deep around them— and the odious woman had offered the opening he needed. His voice darkened and he felt the crowd rear back as one. "You  _dare_  to insinuate that the magic of the Ribbon is false?"

"So…" Skeeter ignored the threat and pushed down her glasses, her expression overly coy. "What's her favourite position? What's  _yours_?"

Severus let the anger surge. How dare she? Odious…cow. " _What?_ " His voice was little more than a growl.

And his sparking wand whipped into his hand.

* * *

Hermione loved the Archives.  _Loved_  them. The whole place held the scent of parchment. New and old. A deeper, richer odour than Hogwarts' library. That place, though wonderful, was always overlaid with the desperate pulse of teenage hormones. She was living, breathing in untainted books. It was almost bliss.

She smirked, focusing on her thumb as it stroked across the ribbon securing the scroll she held. Definitely almost. Not even living in a book compared to the wicked touch of Severus Snape. Her skin still tingled and it had been hours since his sinful fingers had—

"Granger!"

Sarah Fawcett, a Ravenclaw two years ahead of Hermione, skidded to a stop beside her aisle. She gripped the ancient wood of the stacks and leant forward, her breathing laboured. "I got a memo from Michael -–Stebbins, my fiancé, works in Foreign Affairs and Sports— saying there's something going on in the Atrium. His office overlooks it. It's Snape. Professor Snape. Your…your Mentoris. He thinks he's duelling!"

Hermione blinked, trying to process the rapid flow of words. Her heart turned over. "Duelling? Duelling who?"

"You're due a break." Sarah grinned at her, her face red, her eyes wide with excitement. "Let's find out."

"I…" Guilt twisted Hermione's stomach into a tight knot. Yet more of his life disrupted, endangered, because of her demand. She couldn't let him face this alone. They were in this together. But would he thank her for interfering? "Yes. Yes, I have to see Master Beggins."

Sarah ushered her forward. Not touching her arm. But then would anyone risk it if Severus was already duelling over her? And that wasn't a hot, excited flip in her belly. He was defending the magic of the Ribbon and the Ring. Not her.

Augustus Beggins waved her out of the Archives with an indulgent smile. He'd declared her first week much her own, as she found her way around the vastness of the labyrinth of knowledge. With Sarah on her heels, they walked quickly -–an elegant witch or wizard did not run— to the lifts.

Hermione's heart was in her throat as the doors clanked and closed. "Did Michael say who he was duelling?"

She'd bitten back on calling him Severus. And saying Professor Snape somehow felt wrong, though it was correct to use it. They'd both shared him as a Potions Master, but her current status with him…? It felt wrong. It was a problem she'd have to overcome. Severus had been a professor for almost two decades. He'd taught a whole swathe of the wizarding world.

"He couldn't see. The crowd was too big."

The doors opened and more people bustled in, casting sharp looks and leaving a very distinct bubble of space around her. Well, Severus had accomplished one thing. No one but a complete fool would consider touching her now.

The Atrium was packed, noise and heat and people filling the huge space. Yet, as they had for Severus that morning, they melted away from her, leaving a direct path to her Mentoris.

His voice –deep and angered— reached her before she saw him.

"You dare to insinuate that the magic of the Ribbon is false?" The reply was lost in the noise of the crowd. " _What?_ " That came on a low growl that rippled a shiver down her spine.

The murmurs of the crowd dropped to silence and Hermione stepped into the space that surrounded Severus. His wand was gripped in a tightened, white fist pointed to the tiled floor. Before him stood the unrepentant, almost flippant form of Rita Skeeter.

"And here's your little witch now. And -–colour me so surprised— her ribbon is still white." Rita sneered, her quick-quotes quill scribbling across a pad that hovered at her shoulder. "Really,  _Severus_ , you want me, my readers, the good people of this Ministry, to believe that this muggle-born was untouched, is untouched?" Her eyes narrowed in a gimlet stare. "I have it on good authority that very few women –none in fact— remain  _untouched_  when alone with you."

Hermione's stomach turned over. He hadn't… He hadn't slept with Rita Skeeter. She almost palmed her wand to hex the woman herself. But she didn't. Severus was her champion. Instead, she lifted her chin and remained silent. If anyone could eviscerate the vile witch, it was Severus Snape. And she'd gladly watch.

His shoulders loosened, no doubt giving the false impression that his anger had faded. "I am very pleased to announce to  _the good people of this Ministry_  that I have not  _once_  been alone with you."

Relieved laughter rippled and a muscle twitched below Rita's right eye. "How did you do it, Severus? Corrupt the sacred magic? Was it something He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught you?"

Tension rippled now in the place of laughter. The suggestion was obscene…but she'd seen how witches and wizards would happily swallow the  _Prophet's_  lies.

Rita leant in, her smile sharp, a red rictus of sneering hate. "What do you teach her from your Death-Eater past, Severus Snape? What vile acts do you play out on her innocent flesh?"

Severus sighed and used his wand to scratch his temple. "You cannot have it both ways, Miss Skeeter. Either my charge is a false woman, or she is innocent. She cannot be both."

Rita opened her mouth and fast as a snake-strike, the tip of his wand was at her right eye.

"No. You have made your allegations. Miss Granger is as pure a witch as any I have known. She is brilliant and courageous. It is my honour to be her Mentoris. Voldemort –Merlin's sake, find some spine and say his name— is gone. And Miss Granger is proud to display that fact by her wearing of the Ribbon.

"Now," his voice dropped, low and hard, "let the magic to which we are both subject answer for our honesty."

Rita screamed. Her quill and pad clattered to the floor as she rose into the air, twisting, turning against unseen assailants as silver-white streams swept around the struggling witch. As one, the crowd fell back.

The wreath of magic didn't originate from his wand. Hermione frowned. It curled out from the golden ring on his hand, wrapping around his wand before it chased after the errant witch. Her heart tightened and she pressed a hand to her throat, her fingertips skimming the warmth of her ribbon. Their magic, defending them.

"That can't be faked," muttered one old wizard behind Hermione. "My Mentoris, she invoked the Ring magic against one of my mother's friends. Scared the life out of old hag…and she never questioned our bond after that."

Abruptly the magic broke away and Rita hit the floor with a hard thump. Severus stalked towards her. "I trust," he murmured, but still loud enough for the crowd to hear, "that this will end your smear campaign against Miss Granger. You will print a front page retraction in the _Evening Prophet_. Our magic does not react...kindly to those who continually malign it."

The journalist nodded, her white-blonde ringlets falling about her reddened face. "No more, Severus."

"Master Snape." He bit out the title and lifted an eyebrow.

"Master Snape," she repeated.

He gave her an oblique nod and offered his hand. Rita stared at it as if he were offering her a live snake. But she took it, placing a shaking hand in his. He drew her to her feet and presented her with a short bow.

"Good day, Miss Skeeter."

He turned on his heel and his gaze found Hermione. Her cheeks grew hot. "Miss Granger." His voice had softened and a touch of smile lifted his mouth.

Habit already had her raising her hand to him. Gentle fingers enfolded hers and his lips brushed her knuckles. She was certain she heard more than one witch give a soft sigh.

"Master Snape."

His eyebrow lifted and that twitch of a smile deepened. "May I escort you to lunch?"

"I…" She knew she was cobwebbed and dusty, that her perfect hairstyle had slipped even Gret's fierce magic. "I was in the Archives…"

A discreet wave of his wand whispered magic over her. Her hair tugged and the weave in it tightened. He drew out a handkerchief and another flick transfigured it. A warmth surrounded her. He truly was in the wrong profession as a soft, pashmina shawl wrapped itself around her shoulders.

He'd made her look neat and presentable with little fuss. Her heart swelled. She nodded. "I would be honoured."

He eased her hand into the crook of his arm. Already the crowd had mostly dispersed. Rita Skeeter had vanished. Wizard's nodded their heads, a mark of respect, but something in their eyes made Hermione's fingers tighten against the smooth cloth of his sleeve.

Severus covered her hand with his own and the gesture eased her tension. "Hermione?"

"The grindylows are edging to the shore."

Severus frowned, his gaze moving over the wizards still watching them. A few flushed and turned away. Others remained stoic under the Potions Master's glare.

"They will not touch you."

Something burned in his voice, something she wanted, needed to label as possessiveness. That the man he was was guarding her for himself, not just for the magic. It was a little lie she bound to her heart as he called for Diagon Alley and they spun off into the floo network.


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

"It says right here, Arthur." There was the slap of a hard palm against paper and wood. " _Right here_ , that her wearing of the ribbon is a complete lie."

Hermione held down a groan. Mrs Weasley's strident voice echoed down the hallway from the kitchen. She was already on a rampage and it wasn't even six o'clock. Severus growled and it forced a wry smile. "I don't understand her." She wondered if the others had managed to drag anything out of Mrs Weasley when the fight had erupted on Saturday. It was doubtful. Remus would have owled. And she had heard nothing from him. "What's so important about me?"

"I think we should settle that now. I've grown tired of her madness."

Severus took her hand and led the way towards the kitchen. Hermione's stomach was in a knot, but his strong hold, the firm grip of his fingers, eased some of the tension. Having Severus Snape in your corner was a heady feeling indeed.

The softly lit kitchen was empty but for the elder Weasleys. They'd obviously had an early dinner as the stove and oven were cold and no dishes sat on the draining board. A deliberate act? So that she wouldn't share an evening meal with the family? Molly Weasley had a firm handle on spite.

"Good evening, Molly." Severus slapped his copy of the  _Evening Prophet_  on the table in front of the ranting woman. "Skeeter's lies have been retracted."

Mr Weasley looked up from pouring tea. "I heard you were busy at the Ministry today, Severus."

The Potions Master snorted a laugh and gave one of his elegant shrugs. "I had a little spare time, and matters needed to be…dealt with."

Mrs Weasley muttered something under her breath, her gaze averted from the newspaper Severus had put before her. She frowned as her attention flittered over their joined hands. Red topped her cheeks. "This isn't right." She glared at Severus, her lips thinning. With Ron gone, this sort of explosion had been inevitable. "She wasn't meant for you."

A wicked little smile lifted his mouth and Hermione fought not to react, though her belly tightened. She was lucky that he had leashed his sensual nature at Hogwarts. Merlin knew,  _she_  would've got no work done. None at all.

His smile deepened. "It's my pleasure to guide her on this path."

Hermione's breath caught. His voice was velvet and sin, imbuing the innocent words with a decadence they should not have. Her arm was stiff, denying how she wanted to tighten her grip on his hand. A hand that had teased her breast, played with her nipple until it ached…

Severus pulled her close and she half-squeaked. He set his large hands on her shoulders as he made her face Mrs Weasley. But he was at her back, a tall and solid wall of dark power and muscle. His head dipped, his loose hair brushing against her temple. "And it's been my honour to  _teach_  her."

Hermione's eyes fluttered. And obviously Mrs Weasley replaced that stressed word with another much more inappropriate one. It broke what little control the witch had on her temper.

"This…this travesty can still be broken. I'll appeal to the Wizengamot. To Kingsley. She was not yours to take. She was Ron's. Ron needs her. Without her the curse—"

She slapped her hand to her mouth and staggered away from the table. Mr Weasley was on his feet, his face white. Not with shock, but with the start of anger.

"Curse? What curse?" The sensual edge had vanished from Severus' voice.

"The Prewett curse." Mr Weasley bit out. He glared at his wife. "You risked Hermione through the end of the war because of that, that…rubbish?" Other harsher words had burned on his tongue, Hermione could almost feel them in the air. "Are you  _insane_ , woman?"

"Ron is my youngest son. Granny Prewett took me aside when he was born. She said the curse was upon him."

"The Granny Prewett who ended up in the Janus Thickey Ward after spelling herself insensible because she was convinced herself she was a Hungarian Horntail? She was unstable at best. Dangerous at worst. As we can see."

"The curse is real. And only the blood of a virgin muggle-born can lift it."

Hermione stared, stunned. It was too horrible to believe. "Is that why Ron made up those lies about me? To convince you the curse was gone?" Her heart turned over. In that moment, she almost felt sorry for Ron. Almost. " _You've_  made him think he's cursed for all these years?"

Great gods, it explained Mrs Weasley's fury in the Fourth Year at the  _Prophet's_  scandalous revelations. The prospect of the virgin who would cure her son escaping her.

"What does this curse supposedly do?" Severus was a rock, a firm touch of calm in the insanity of the kitchen.

Mr Weasley huffed out a breath. "It addles the brain, weakens magic." His hard stare was on his wife again. "It was a Malfoy invention in the seventeenth century. A way to deny betrothal between a Prewett son and a precious Malfoy daughter. But Molly's great grandmother ran with it. Fed it down though her daughters and their daughters, to be on the look out for this line-weakening curse."

"And the Malfoys suggested the solution?" Severus' smile was wry. "In an attempt to weaken the Prewett pureblood status, thus ensuring their supremacy."

"Exactly." Mr Weasley caught his fingers in this thinning hair. "Severus, can I request that Ron be allowed home? If  _his mother_  has been feeding them these lies..." He sighed. "The boy must be terrified."

Severus gave him a curt nod. "He must understand that Hermione is not to be bothered by any more attention. Friends, yes, but for the duration of our bond, nothing more."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. That was not his decision to make. Well, the Ron returning and the being more then friends was…but about her agreeing to being friends with Ron…

She almost groaned. Even in her head that sounded petty. It was the…high-handedness that irked. A light squeeze on her shoulder brought her attention back.

"Hermione has agreed that it's best she not remain here."

"You don't…" Mr Weasley began.

"It was a decision we made this morning, Arthur." Severus twitched a brief smile, but that fell away when he looked to Mrs Weasley. "You almost destroyed two lives with this ridiculous belief. What would you have done when your son didn't change? Would you have broken the relationship and tried again. And again?"

Her mouth had thinned. She obviously still saw herself in the right. Poor Ron. At least he would have his father's support now. Hermione was simply relieved that it would no longer be her problem. "I should pack."

"Call if you need help."

She nodded and made herself walk calmly from the tension-thick kitchen. In the dark quiet of the stairs, she leant against the bannister and pushed out a long, slow breath.

The muggle part of her railed against the fact that Mrs Weasley could believe her son was cursed. The insanity of it. But this was the magical world and Molly Weasley was a pureblood. It was perfectly possible that some dark witch or wizard could curse a line. She was a mother doing what she felt was right to save her son. And maybe –a remote maybe— if Mrs Weasley had expressed her fears, told  _her_  of her worries…

Hermione shuddered at the thought of sleeping with Ron in the ultimate form of a pity fuck. Perhaps they could be friends again. Or not? It twisted her stomach tight to think that he'd only started a friendship with the prospect of eventually sleeping with her. Had that always been at the back of his mind?

Pushing down the hideous thought, she took to the stairs. There wouldn't be much to pack and she wanted to be out of Grimmauld Place as soon as possible.

Certainly before Ronald Weasley returned from Romania.

* * *

Hermione was grateful for the change of clothes, a loose set of light robes -–Gret's design from the strong feel of the magic— and to sit at a quiet dinner table. No fights, no inane quidditch chatter, no grabbing what food you could before a bottomless Weasley stomach almost snapped her fingers fighting for the last roast potato…

Severus was watching her over his wine glass, one of those dark little smiles lighting his mouth. "Enjoying the quiet?"

"And not having to count my fingers before I leave the table."

"Hogwarts and the Weasleys haven't prepared you for wizarding dinners." He looked to the table. "The cutlery will be as you see it, only one place setting. It's considered vulgar to follow the muggle example." He shrugged. "And with magic, it's easy enough to whisk more in."

He lifted his glass. "Your glass is always spelled to refill. Take only sips. There will always be water on the table."

The first course appeared, a wide dish of roasted scallops, vegetables and some marine creature she couldn't identify. It smelt heavenly.

He lifted an eyebrow. "When should you start?"

Hermione had worked her way through the desperately long and desperately boring etiquette book. "Depending on the event, not until the host does. Unless there's a Malfoy and they decide whether they should start or the host." She rolled her eyes. "It's little wonder Draco was such a insufferable…" She met Severus' gaze and her cheeks flushed. "Well this deference to the Malfoys. It's obscene."

"The Malfoys are powerful and wealthy. They also have the purest bloodline in the wizarding world."

Hermione snorted. "Didn't we just fight –and win— a war over that?"

Severus mouth was pursed, but his eyes shone with humour. "We did. The Malfoys don't exercise these traditions, but everyone –everyone— is aware of them. That is the important lesson." He shook his head. "I asked Albus, year in and year out, to offer something to the muggle-borns and less aware half bloods to help ease them into their new world. He saw it as bowing to Riddle."

He sighed. "But this tradition was around long before  _him_. We are magical beings.  _Powerful_  magical beings. We need structure and firm law, or it all falls to chaos."

He picked up his knife and fork. Hermione followed him. "Most dinners follow this pattern. Sometimes the food will be served  _a la francaise_ , which mirrors the Weasley's free-for-all." He winced. "Thankfully those are rare."

"You mentioned a list of events." Hermione risked a cut of the unidentified sea creature and found it oddly chewy. "Are there lots?"

"We're booked till after New Year. So far. Your introductory ball is this Saturday, at Malfoy Manor."

The fork froze on the way to her mouth. Focusing everything she had, she rested her cutlery on her plate. "Severus, I was…I was tortured there." She pressed her lips together and couldn't stop her fingers finding the words carved one her arm. "And they all –Lucius, Narcissa, Draco— watched while Bellatrix Lestrange cut me and crucio'd me. Watched as Greyback pawed…"

Severus was kneeling before her and holding her in tight, tight arms. The scent of him surrounded her and eased the ache in her chest. "I am with you." His words burned against her ear. "You are a ribboned-witch under my protection. I will  _not_  fail you."

"And I don't want to make you look like a fool." She reluctantly drew back from him and he wiped away her tears. Her heart twisted. Did he lavish such attention on all his witches? Or was it a part of being a Mentoris? It was addictive either way. "I will be better."

He offered a short smile and climbed to his feet. He brushed at his creased trousers. "There are several ministry events –unavoidable, I'm sorry— and more private house parties. In total so far, sixeen."

She settled herself before her place again, his quick return to their diary easing her nerves. "Where will we be at Christmas?"

He sat and took a sip of his wine. "I left that day free. It's yours to decide."

She looked to her abandoned plate and picked up her knife and fork again. She wanted to say she'd love to spend a quiet Christmas with him, in this flat. But she had no idea what his plans where. Or had been before she took over his life. "What are your plans?"

"I have no plans."

Her heart was in her throat and she wet dry lips. "May I, may I stay here with you? And possibly make a flying visit to the Burrow? I'd like to be somewhere warm and comfortable and quiet this year."

* * *

Severus willed himself to nod.

The girl was inching into every corner of his life. His thumb stroked the underside of the ring on his little finger. He'd blame throwing his arms around her on this piece of spelled metal.

Her terror had rioted over him and his thought was only to find her and protect her. To battle and slay her dragons. And now she'd invaded his Christmas day. A day he would sit and get drunk and curse the world.

Oh, how his day would be spoiled by having to endure the company of a clever, pretty little witch instead.

He watched her over his glass. She hadn't argued against going to the Malfoy house. No, she'd pulled in her courage and promised to be better. Fuck, he hadn't known. And the Malfoys had said not one word about it as they enjoyed grabbing the first social outing of the new ribboned-witch.

Severus would be having words.

He focused his attention on Hermione. "After dinner, I will see how well you dance."

Hermione beamed at him, looking as if he'd offered her the moon. His heart tightened. In March, she would be gone, run off on the arm of another more worthy man. Fuck, it had only been days.  _Days_. He wanted this growing…obsession to be a result of the magic that held them. Needed it. Otherwise, how the hell was he going to let her go?

 


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

Severus had pursed his lips. The low light of the library and the flickering of the fire chased gold over his stern features. He was dressed as he had been when he collected her the night before, in trousers and an open-necked shirt. His feet were bare. He was almost her dream-Severus and he looked…beautiful.

Hermione fought to listen to what he was saying.

"…will only be for reference. Any ball attended whilst we're still…together, you will dance with no one but me."

She jerked a nod. Dancing exclusively with Severus? Not a chore. "And if I'm asked?"

"You shouldn't be. These are mostly pure-blood led affairs. They are well aware of your status."

And no doubt her status  _before_  she was a ribboned-witch. A muggle-born.  _Mudblood_. Her arm itched. She was certain someone would attempt to dishonour her by asking. "And if they're not?"

"Politely decline. Now." He conjured a straight-backed chair before the fire and bid her sit. He frowned. A flick of wand lengthened the skirts of her robes, brought them in at the waist and scooped the neck. She remained barefoot. "A facsimile of your gown, but it allows you more movement. We will do a dress rehearsal on Friday."

"Are all Mentoris this thorough?"

Severus gave her a loose shrug. "No idea. But it is how I plan to teach you. Now, Hermione," he lifted an eyebrow, "do you agree that young men are atrocious at asking young women to dance?"

Not that she had much experience, but she remembered the Yule Ball in the Fourth Year. The worst being most of the Weasleys' way of going about it. "Yes."

"I wasn't born into wealth and I'm not particularly well-bred," his lips twitched, "but what I did beat into myself was the use of manners. It's seen as old-fashioned, but am I right in that you would prefer this method?"

He stood before her, straight, his eyes firm on hers. A touch of a smile softened the seriousness in his eyes and he bowed his head. "Miss Granger, would you do me the honour of allowing me the next dance?" His voice was low and sure and she was already half holding his outstretched hand. He drew her to her feet. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "You see," his voice was velvet against her ear and she shivered. "Manners can offer a sensual feast compared to the 'do you wanna?' and a grab and haul."

A soft laugh escaped her. "And I should only dance with men who do me this courtesy?"

"I hate to see women half-yanked into dancing. Some in the middle of conversations."

His low growl deepened her smile. "You're waging war on the uncouth, Severus."

He inclined his head. "I am indeed. And I want witches to see –through you— that they should make demands on their half-witted wizards." He drew her further into the empty space before the fire, her chair gone. "Did you prefer my method?"

"You know I did."

"Then accept nothing less."

He flicked his wand and music swelled in the darkness of the library. His hand slipped over her waist and she remembered to breathe. Without her shoes, he loomed over her. His dark eyes, touched with gold, were endless, mesmerising. She spoke without thought, "Of course, it might be nice to be grabbed once in a while."

She closed her eyes, heat burning in her face at his soft laughter.

"Would you like that, Hermione?" His voice was sin and wickedness and she bit her lip to deny a moan. "Shadows and heat, the noise of a ball and there you stand, separate… Waiting." His breath stole across her ear and her chest hitched. His voice should come with a warning. It really should. "Hands grab you, one at your waist, one muffling your pretty little mouth. Can't have you screaming, now can we? Everyone will see."

Merlin and Nimue, what was he doing to her? Her head was light, almost swirling. The soft music twisted through her mind, her body, working with Severus' dangerous words.

"Where should I take you? Some place we won't be seen. Spells will work to silence your cries as I  _ravish_  you."

Hermione stumbled and became sharply aware that they had been dancing the waltz, a fluid movement across the floor, no thought, only rhythm.

"Moving without thought, your mind pleasantly occupied."

"Wicked man!"

He smirked at her. "I try."

She moved to find that ease again, the thoughts of Severus flowing. For a long moment, there was only the sounds of the music, breathing, the swish of her skirts and bare feet gliding over the parquet floor. The closeness of him was almost intoxicating. "Is that your usual conversation whilst dancing?"

"Depends on my partner. I…tailor."

The music died away and Severus brought the waltz to a graceful end. "I bow, you curtsey." His brow furrowed. "Yes, that needs work. Your waltz is adequate." He smirked at her as she muttered under her breath. "The wizarding world has cranked itself reluctantly out of the early modern era. We no longer have hour long set pieces. Though if Minerva had her way,  _every_  dance would be the Epsom Reel. Instead, we have the waltz, the foxtrot and the tango."

Hermione blinked. "I can't tango." The waltz had been bad enough with his hot whispered words. To add in the sensuality of the tango? Severus would be lucky she didn't tackle him to the floor.

"If you're truly dreadful, I have a potion."

As Professor McGonagall had half-pounded dancing into the Gryffindors, Severus had taught his snakes. Or cheated. With a potion. How Slytherin.

Gret appeared with a jug of iced water and Hermione was grateful for it. She pressed her cool glass to her heated cheek. She couldn't imagine anyone else guiding her around the dance floor with a smoothness, an elegance that stole her breath. Severus Snape was completely bewitching. But she would have to imagine it. After…

"I know…" She sucked in a breath, finding her courage. "I know that men will show an interest in me. For the time after my ribbon fades." She couldn't look at him. And she hated the memory of those wizards at the Ministry who'd looked at her as if she were the freshest thing on the menu. "How do I deal with it?"

"Informally, it's known as The Card."

His voice was tight and she wanted to believe that he hated the idea of her…moving on as much as she did. She risked a glance at him, but as ever, he was unreadable. "The Card?"

"Similar to a dance card."

Hermione winced. "That's…" She shuddered. "And I have to decide as I go on who will be first, second…?" She pressed a hand to her throat, her stomach turning. "Dear gods, no."

"It's not obligatory. Again, any insistence made by wizards for their place on The Card can be met with a hex."

A wry smile pulled at her mouth. "Your solution to everything."

"A good hex goes a long way." He took her glass from her fingers, the brush of the tips against hers pulsing. "We should continue." He reaffirmed his hand at her waist and flexed his fingers around hers. "Can you foxtrot? I believe we should avoid the tango. It's not a seemly dance."

Relief and disappointment warred within her. Severus was a very able dancer. To dance something so…sensual with him. It would've been a form of bliss. But he was right. She didn't want an audience for that dance. With her luck, another photographer would capture her desperate want of him…and there wouldn't be the distraction of Rita Skeeter's vile words to save her.

She couldn't foxtrot. The third time she tangled herself in his legs, Severus finally admitted defeat. It was decided that she would  _only_  waltz. It was the best solution for all parties.

The clock on the mantle softly chimed the hour and Hermione was surprised to see it was eleven.

"A wizard will see you back to your friends and thank you." His lips twitched and humour shone in his eyes. "Even if his shins are black with bruising."

Hermione glared at him. "I'm a bookworm."

"As am I. Yet, I seem to be able to move my feet around adequately and in time…"

Hermione had the real urge to stick her tongue out at him. She huffed a breath instead. And damn it, she really didn't want the night to end. She'd had fun…and she wouldn't end it in his bed. "Touching."

Severus' eyes narrowed on her at the blurted word.

"We've covered dancing etiquette. The Card." She shivered. No. Not happening. Not at all. "You haven't been specific about touching. Should I hex first and ask questions after?"

His voice was soft in the darkness and she was happy to draw out her time with him. "The same rule applies as those who insist on questioning you. The third touch equals a hex. The first touch. State you do not wish to be touched. You are being polite, perhaps it was a mistake." He snorted. "If he's under thirty, it won't be. A second touch. You are giving them a chance, perhaps they are ill-mannered oafs. The third touch. Enough. You take their legs out from under them. There is no excuse to continue to touch a witch who does not wish it."

"And if it carries on through the night? From myriad men?"

"First touch. State no and hex them." A smile touched his mouth. "A rule I instigated as Head of House."

"I will become you, though I rather like black." She tilted her head. "Do you think a cravat would suit me?"

He drew a slow finger along her jaw and the sensation rioted in her flesh. Her eyes fluttered shut. Such a light touch sparked all of the aching need that she'd supressed through her day. Her body was  _too_  ready for him…and she loathed the thought that she had only a cold empty bed to return to.

"Would you deny me the delicious dip of your collarbones, or the beauty of your throat?"

His voice was low and soft and slipped over her like honey, like chocolate, like every single decadent moment in her short career as a ribboned-witch.

"Severus…"

His name escaped her and she stared up at him. Wanting him. Wanting in that hot moment, for her ribbon to declare that her status had changed. That Severus Snape had taken everything he could from her—

His kiss was hot. Unexpected. His fingers tunnelling into her hair as his other hand pressed her hard against him. No one would interrupt them this time. No one.

Hermione groaned, wanting more of him, her hands fisting his shirt.

"Gods, girl…"

He growled against her mouth and pleasure rolled through her in a crashing wave. Almost, she almost came at the raw sound of his voice.

"Such a tiny little witch." A brief spell and her back was against the wall of books, but softened by a cushioning charm. Severus lifted her, his hot mouth on her throat, his hands gripping her arse. "Wrap your legs around me."

Hermione did and cried out as he pushed against her, the length of him hard between her legs. She cursed the clothes that kept her from his skin. She wanted him. "Please…" He rocked, finding something, something that seared a fierce pleasure in her flesh, wild and hot, wave upon wave, thickening… Her body jerked against his, her hands fisting his hair and shirt. There. Just like that morning. Gods, she was going to—

Her orgasm smashed into her and she cried out, lost in the pure bliss of him, of his touch. "Merlin, Severus…" Her shaking fingers touched his jaw. Had he…? Had he found his release? She wet her dried lips. "What…what can I do for you?"

He huffed a breath against her neck and she shivered. "I am fine." He drew back, easing her trembling legs to the floor and for several long heartbeats, his forehead pressed against hers. "Good night, Hermione. I will see you in the morning."

"Severus—"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Not yet. I would not have you up against a wall. Your first time…" His lips tilted up and that delicious hint of wickedness made her want to kiss him –and more— again. "Will be a…superior moment of bliss. I promise you."

Her hand pressed to his chest, the warmth of his body and the hard beat of his heart there under her palm. "When will I share your bed again?"

Severus groaned.

"Please. I have never slept so well."

His lips pursed into that kissable shape. "After the party."

"When I'll be acting more like a strung out pixie."

"Precisely." He stepped back from her. "Again. Goodnight, Hermione. Sleep well."

The door clicked softly shut behind him and Hermione sank bonelessly to the floor before the fire. Was the binding magic amplifying the sensations that burned between them? If…if she slept with him without the ribbon, would it be a disappointment? Would it be awful, if after the ribbon faded and his ring vanished, she kissed him and he drew back in disgust? That the fury, the wildness of their joining had become nothing more than barely palatable in comparison?

How did the ribboned cope after? How could any other lover compare?

She resisted the real urge to stroke the ribbon at her throat. It was wonderful…but Merlin's shrivelled nutsack, it was  _so_  confusing.

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

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Okay, this is the last of the daily updates. I'll be more sporadic from now on. Sorry.

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"Severus! To what do we owe this honour? If you're after Narcissa and her arrangements for your bound little witch, she's in Paris." Lucius flipped back his copy of the  _Prophet_  and tilted his head. Sunlight from the long window gilded his still-perfect profile and fired his hair into a halo of white gold. His lips formed a moue. "There are things she has to do with place settings. And linen. I asked no further."

Severus, for all his manners, for all his elegance, could never achieve that which Lucius Malfoy did with a turn of his head. And sometimes he envied the man's almost ethereal beauty. Sometimes.

"Simply a question." The Potions Master handed his snow-wet cloak to a hovering house elf and sank into the silk-lined chair. Amelia had clucked at the use of such rare and expensive fabric in a day chair, set in the full sun. But this was Malfoy extravagance at its worst. "Why didn't you tell me Miss Granger had already visited your home?"

Lucius' pale eyes fixed on him. The moue faded to a thinned line. " _That_."

"Yes,  _that_." Severus let out a slow breath. "The girl was tortured here. From what I understand, in this very room. And you didn't think it was relevant to mention?"

Lucius lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you knew."

"That she was tortured by Bellatrix. But not that the three of you…attended."

Or that Greyback had mawled her.

Severus didn't admit the last one, because he doubted he could hold onto his temper. The thought of the perverted werewolf's paws on Hermione had twisted in his thoughts, digging deep and only increasing his impotent anger. Greyback had been repeatedly stabbed with silver, burnt to ashes and those ashes had been pushed beyond the veil. Still, it didn't satisfy Severus.

"Really." Lucius huffed the word out on a breath. "What were we meant to do? And the witch was holding her own against my insane sister-in-law." His blue eyes glittered. "Aren't we putting that sordid past behind us with a muggle-born ribbon wearer?"

So, Lucius didn't approve. Even with all his power and standing, he couldn't go against two war heroes and sacred tradition. It didn't mean he wouldn't try…

Severus shoved down the idea that he could make Lucius apologise. He wouldn't. And it would tip Severus' hand now if he asked for one.  _Shit_. "Indeed we are."

Severus was back within their fold. Truly, he had never left. Lucius didn't care that he'd been a traitor to the Dark Lord. In the end, they'd both recognised Voldemort was a canker that needed to be removed. Severus continued to let Lucius believe that he had been playing the side that suited him best: the winning one. Just as a true Slytherin should.

A little elf appeared with a tea tray and Severus helped himself, pouring a cup for Lucius too. He wouldn't distract him with the deference, but it suggested that Severus was more on his side. Even if it was a lie. Playing Lucius had been a serious hobby for almost twenty five years. "I hear that little witches are queuing up now to take the ribbon."

Lucius perfect lips quirked upwards, reacting to the salacious cut to Severus' tone. "That I were free to indulge them. Still…" he smirked around his cup, "there is always after. A slew of witches broken in and eager to try out their newly acquired skills? It's almost as fine a prospect."

"Quite." A fist tightened in Severus' gut. The wizard would touch Hermione over his cold, dead body. He didn't care if she found the bastard pretty, or charming, or anything else Lucius Malfoy could project to hide his true personality.  _He_  would not have  _her_.

"Of course you are enjoying untouched flesh. Not at all like you, Severus."

Severus curled his lip. "The residents of Grimmauld Place objected. Strongly. How could I ignore such a…challenge?"

Lucius barked a laugh. "So you swept the witch up. Well done. They can be so po-faced." His nose wrinkled. "As if Molly Prewett didn't spend the entire Seventh Year with her heels in the air. I have it on good authority that more than Arthur Weasley ploughed that deep furrow. And as for Nymphadora Tonks…"

Something sparked in Lucius gaze and Severus' stomach turned. Instead of horror, he affected the air of a jaded reprobate and laughed softly. "Your  _niece_ , Lucius. Really?"

"As if you haven't tasted the delights of a woman who can be  _anyone_  you desire."

"I know how clumsy she is. I feared for certain parts of my anatomy."

Lucius sipped his tea. His pale eyebrow rose. "Body binds are useful in such situations…"

_Bastard_. Fuck, he hadn't known. That one had got by him. How? He'd worked bloody hard to keep everyone safe. First Hermione, now this. Severus hated that money, a perceived turning on the part of the Malfoy family, and the deference the wizarding world had for the blond shits had kept them all from Azkaban. There was some hope for Draco, but Lucius, Lucius should've been reduced to ash and shoved through the veil.

"I jest, Severus! Where is your sense of humour today? Narcissa would have my crown jewels for a rather unattractive tiara if I tupped another Black."

"After Bellatrix…"

Lucius gave a delicate shudder. "I couldn't walk for a week."

"It was deserved."

Lucius allowed that with elegant incline of his head. "Are you moulding your witch well, Severus? I don't want a fright at my ball."

"Miss Granger is a bright witch. Very willing to take instruction."

Lucius gave a snort. "So it's not a complete bind? And after, you'll be a sought man. Witches do love a wizard who's worn the Ring."

Severus smile was slow. He wanted out of this hated drawing room. He wasn't focused. That he couldn't see that Lucius was joking about Tonks was a dangerous slip. The idea of Hermione suffering in the room swirled through his thoughts and he wanted to search, find the echo of her pain and set fiend fyre on it.

"This whole thing has you distracted."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have to be  _polite_  to people, Lucius. It's simply not right."

"Merlin forbid Severus Snape be courteous to those who are so far beneath him."

Severus toasted him with his teacup. "Precisely."

"Don't worry, your season will soon be over and you'll be free of her. You can enjoy watching her bounce from bed to bed, knowing that she's wasting her talent on lesser wizards. And that every wizard that does get between her thighs  _knows_  that the hated Professor Snape taught her  _everything_  she's doing to them."

Lucius smile was wicked even as Severus' stomach turned over. He'd hex anyone that touched her. He could hardly believe that he'd almost taken her against a stack of books the night before. The temptation was there...and through the night he'd fought the fierce need to find her in her bed. Make her  _his_. Fuck, he hated the magic of the Ring that made him so possessive, so...wanting of Hermione Granger.

Severus willed ice over this thoughts and his pounding heart slowed. "If they dwell, poor Miss Granger will never see another wizard but me."

Something glittered in Lucius' gaze that pricked Severus' senses, before the wizard picked up his paper again. "You should crawl back to Amelia. Settle down. Raise some ankle-biters."

"Amelia would never take me back."

Not in a formal, contracted way. For all her flirting and innuendo, and he admitted, the casual sex in which they sometimes indulged, it was true. She had broken their betrothal in disgust -he could hardly blame her, she  _had_  caught him with another witch- and ran off to marry Bertamn Athcasta, an ancient Austrian wizard. He'd been dead five years now. Amelia always  _insisted_  it was natural causes. Severus had his doubts.

Lucius looked at him over the top of his paper. "You let a very fine witch slip through your fingers."

Severus wanted to agree with him. And couldn't.

He purposely did not examine the reason why.

 


	17. Chapter 17

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I couldn't let the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts pass without a post. :)

I am still working on the Malfoy Ball part of this wip, but I have deadlines and an editor waiting *eep* so I need to focus on my demons for a while longer. And this interlude was inspired by reviewer's comment, as she pointed out this was missing from Hermione's education.

M ahead :)

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"Severus, I'm not ready for this!"

Hermione burst into the sitting room, her hair wild and sparking with magic. She wore only a thin, linen shift and Gret was in her wake, ears flattened, wringing his long hands and whimpering.

"Master Snape, sir…" Gret's luminous eyes gleamed with tears and his spindly hands tightened into a complicated knot. "I promise, Gret is only wanting the best for Miss. There are…tasks I must complete to prepare Miss. It is expected."

Severus stroked the page of his book with a long finger, marking it and placed it on the table beside his armchair. He stood. "Everything is perfectly all right, Gret. I will calm Miss Granger."

Gret sucked in a sob and popped as he vanished from the room.

Severus cupped Hermione's shoulders. She was shaking. "Hermione…" He kept his voice soft and low. He'd heard about her panic attacks before exams, though never had he witnessed one. Still the plan he had to solve this particular episode would be considered extremely…unorthodox. "You are ready."

"But I'm a fraud! I'll forget everything. I have the grace and beauty of a Ukrainian Ironbelly. A blind, half-mad one. And I should know. I've ridden—"

She squeaked at the brush of his lips over hers. "No."

Hermione blinked. "No?"

His hand slipped down her bare arm and she shivered at the light and deliberate brush of his fingertips over her bare skin. His fingers folded through hers. "Come with me."

Her belly gave a little flip and she padded after him into the corridor and along to his bedroom. She stopped breathing at that point, her cheeks heating. "Severus?"

"I've realised," he murmured, his voice still that delicious rumble that slid under her flesh and made clear thinking quite…difficult, "that I've been rather remiss in my tutelage."

He opened the door to his bedroom and the familiar scents of him, of cedar and spices sank blissfully into her. The door closed behind her with a definite click and she fought not to squeak. Again.

"You came to me totally untouched." Something moved in his gaze that she couldn't read. "Completely. Even my your own hand."

Her scattering thoughts sharpened. Did he expect her to masturbate, on his bed, in front of him? She was certain she was red from the tips of hair to her daintily painted toenails. "I…"

"You should know your own body, if you are to take pleasure with another's." His dark eyes held her. "But…since we are short on time this afternoon, I will…lend a hand."

"You…?"

But he was already removing his boots and socks. His shirt untucked and he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. In short order, he was relaxed against the headboard on his wide bed. He lifted an eyebrow. "This would be easier if you removed your dress."

Hermione glanced at the windows, the final light of the winter's day cutting through the muslin curtains. They were magical, reflecting the winter starkness of Kensington Gardens…so no one would see her. Her insides churned. She wanted this. Wanted him to chase joy through her flesh. But still… It was the middle of the afternoon.

Severus made a show of closing his eyes and she glared at him. "There. I can't see you. Disrobe, sit with your back to me and let us begin."

"This is awkward," she muttered, tugging the thin dress over her head, untangling it from her hair and dropping it onto a chair. His eyes remained closed as she crawled across the bed and sat between his parted legs. She jumped and bit her lip at the slow stroke of his fingers across her bare shoulder.

"Relax, Hermione." He cupped her upper arms and eased her against his chest. The warm, smoothness of his shirt brushed her skin and she sighed, even as the traitorous little curl of heat coiled in her belly. His lips brushed her ear. "I will be your hands today."

Hermione sucked in a breath, her thoughts already swirling. She'd expected something later, after the party. Not now. That had been a part of her anxiety. Wanting him, wondering if he would take her virginity…and now this.

"Why did you never…distract yourself this way?"

Severus light touch traced down her arms, slipping upwards on the unexpectedly sensitive inner planes. Her breath hitched. Or was it simply him, his touch?

"You are inquisitive and passionate. Did your own body not call out to you, ache for relief?"

Hermione's eyes closed, her head against his shoulder, her neck exposed to his mouth, his breath and  _that voice_  that caressed her as surely as his hands. The anxiety of the ball fell away. No, she had a much more interesting curl of emotion building in her flesh. "I never thought about it. Everything else was so much more important." She huffed out a laugh. "I was often exhausted, my head caught with theories, with plans."

"Viktor Krum?"

She imagined that edge to his voice, because, well, she wanted it there. If she could experience the sharp spike of jealousy over his numerous witches –and she was  _not_  dwelling on Madam Athcasta— then let him have a moment's doubt over her feelings for Viktor. "He was…physical."

"Was he?"

Severus' thumb drew a line over the slope of her breast to tease around her tightened nipple and she gasped, arching into his touch. "And yet," he murmured, "you are here."

"There was little  _finesse_."

The word came out on a squeak as his fingertip found her taut nipple. A jagged line of heat swept down to her core and she couldn't help pressing her thighs together. Her belly quivered. This was what Victor could never achieve with his single sloppy kiss and meaty hands grabbing her backside.

"And you thought that I would have more patience? More technique?"

"I've watched you hands for years, Severus."

Hermione hissed in a sharp breath. His hot palm pressed against her belly, the tips of his long, elegant fingers teasing her mons. Her gaze fixed on them. She had watched him. Had marvelled at his precision, the care, the patience that he found as he brewed or cast a spell. And in a quiet corner of her mind –especially in her Sixth Year— she had pondered where else he could practice such…dedication.

His lips brushed her ribbon, a murmured spell heating it, and she almost arched against him at the sudden fire beneath her skin.

"Easy…" His voice was dark and molten. " _Feel_."

And gods –there— over her mons, a thrum, a low vibration. She stared at his hand and sucked in a tight breath as his fingers dipped lower, lower…until that delicious thrum stroked over her clitoris.

Hermione mewled, twisting turning against the riot of sensation searing through her flesh. Severus' hard thighs gripped her hips, his hand now squeezing her breast, his thumb flicking her tight nipple. But his fingers… Her hands gripped his thighs. Every inch of her skin burned, her flesh ached, too much, too much…and not  _nearly_  enough.

She wet dried lips, panting against the fierce tension gripping her body. "Severus, please…"

"Was this what you wanted, witch? You're so wet, Hermione. Aching."

His breath heated the shell of her ear, his lips teasing her. And his voice… She closed her eyes. The thrum against her clit deepened and she rolled her hips, driving him against her, quicker. Harder. She was close. So close…

"The least touch. Imagine when I take you. When I finally  _fuck_  you—"

Hermione came, shuddering, crying out his name, her fingers biting into his thighs before she slumped back against him. A laugh broke from her. Ball? What ball? Who cared about a pile of snotty purebloods when she could feel  _this_  good? "Gods, Severus…"

His name was a whisper, almost a benediction and something fisted in his chest. Lucius was right. All her first memories would be of him, how he touched her, taught her, how he wrung the first great pleasures from her flesh. Others might equal it –or, he very much doubted, surpass it— but this moment was his.  _His_.

"Severus…?"

She turned over, curling into him and his arms tightened around her soft, heated body. He hmmn'd into her hair, not trusting himself to speak.

"How would that spell work on you?"

He gave a soft laugh, but the sudden ache in his dick almost,  _almost_  made him thrust against her. She was pressed to him, hot even through the layers of material that separated him from her.

However, he had promised. He would devote time to taking her virginity. He was well aware that other Mentoris took their charges as the ribbon sealed their Agreement…and the rest of their time became about technique. But he, he wanted Hermione to  _ache_  for him.

Because he was a bastard like that.

 


	18. Chapter 18

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So...I finished a demon novella, as a gift to myself (I do love this fic! lol) here's the start of the Malfoy Ball. I haven't got as far with it as I would like, as I'm wading into the novel that follows on from the demon novella-and it's also on a tight deadline. I finish nothing for 2 years...then I'm on a surge. Typical ;-)

I hope to update again later in the month.

Enjoy.

Issy

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"You look…enchanting."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Severus, but still she smiled at the reflection of him in her long mirror. She knew she wasn't a girly girl. Lavender Brown had often despaired over her hair and skin and nails and dress sense…but under Gret's clever magic and Madam Athcasta's brilliant tailoring, Hermione felt like a queen. "I feel regal." She smirked at him. "Would you like to be a prince or a duke?"

Severus sneered, though humour lit his dark gaze. "I'm happy to be a commoner."

"More titles for me."

He held her gaze and heat suffused her face, the memory of how he had touched her, played her, how she had come apart so easily overtaking her. And the knowledge that if he suggested the same again, she wouldn't give a sickle or a knut for all her finery. But…there was after the ball.

Severus had promised she would share his bed. The thought of it danced sparks low in her belly. Whether real or a part of the magic, she wanted to accept them now and enjoy her short time with him. After…after would take care of itself.

He fiddled with this cravat, teasing it straight. He was, as ever, the height of smooth elegance, slim and perfectly turned out in his familiar black frockcoat. Madam Athcasta's touch brought something extra…and Hermione wanted to wrestle him back into her bedroom and strip every last item of that witch's clothing from his body.

"Ready?" he asked, meeting her eyes again.

She nodded, even as her stomach knotted. Malfoy Manor. With all three of the Malfoys in attendance. How they had escaped the Death Eater purge, she didn't know. She suspected money. Lots of money had changed hands…and the aid or lack of action the family had given towards the end of the war. She didn't trust them and she didn't like them. But she would behave, because she was a ribboned-witch.

"Oh, did you see the  _Prophet_  today?" Hermione took her silver wrap from Gret with a murmured thank you. "A Hufflepuff Seventh year has accepted the ribbon."

"I saw. Her family-approved Mentoris is a fair and thorough wizard." His lips quirked upwards. "Though somewhat…unimaginative."

"Won't it be awkward for the Headmistress?"

"It will be soon. There'll be a stampede of witches fighting to wear the ribbon."

Hermione frowned. "Are there enough worthy wizards?"

He took her hand and kissed it, his obsidian gaze fixed on her. His expression was smug. "The magic only works for the worthy, Hermione."

"And those poor Sixth and Seventh Year boys. There'll be no eager girls for them."

"They would do well to take the ribbon as well. A mature woman with a firm hand. Do them the world of good."

Hermione snorted a laugh and pressed her gloved hand to her mouth. "You're wicked."

"I am indeed." He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. "We'll apparate to the gates of the manor. A carriage will take us up to the house." He paused. "Lucius Malfoy is not…approving of a muggleborn wearing the Ribbon. Be wary of him tonight."

Hermione frowned. "Then why invite me? Us?"

"Because you are the first ribboned-witch in thirty years. It is good for Malfoy name to have you seen in their home."

"Git."

"An expression best left here."

She sighed. "I know. And I know to be a good little witch. But still… Urgh!"

Severus laughed at her inarticulation. "My feelings exactly. It will be a trying evening."

"But we'll sleep well."

Hermione's cheeks warmed as his obsidian eyes held her. Something moved in their endless depths, something that made her want to tear off his well-made clothes again. The ghost of his touch was still on her body, marked in her flesh. At that moment, it seemed to have satisfied very little, only forced the ache deeper.

Did he have something more than sleep planned? She wanted to ask, but the anticipation was delicious…and in it, there was no chance of rejection. Of disappointment.

His smile was dark. "We will."

A tightening of his hand over hers was the only warning that they were about to disapparate. Hermione landed smoothly and her stomach barely turned. Cold, black night swept around her and she shivered. Great iron gates, touched by the silvering moonlight rose up before her and she jumped when they creaked, groaned and dissolved into grey smoke.

"They've recognised our signature. Malfoy Manor would not keep  _us_  waiting."

A small, silver and black curricle, drawn by a pair of thestrals, stood on the cobbled drive, lit by the lamps fixed to the curve of the low dashboard. Ahead of them on the curve of the wide road, other lights bobbed.

Severus handed her up and she settled in the soft, dark leather. He sat beside her, close, but not touching, made a clicking noise and the carriage jerked forward. A warming spell wrapped around her and Hermione let out a relieved breath. At least she wouldn't be cold. Her gown was whisper-thin acromantula silk, corseted and stiffened, but still, barely there.

"I'm in a Jane Austen novel," she murmured. She slipped a glance to Severus, the light from the lamps warming his strong features. In looks he was more of a Bronte hero, in manners, though, he could trounce Mr Darcy and give Captain Wentworth a good run for his hard won prize money.

"Something amuses you?"

Hermione could hardly admit she was seeing him as a granite-hewn Mr Rochester… She told a mostly-truth. "How unlike the muggle world all this is. Gowns and balls and carriages. More like a novel or a…costume drama than real life."

"As I said, we change slowly. There is little need for innovation as muggles see it or need it."

"Though you pinched the foxtrot."

His lips twitched. "With your…talent for it, should that be a cultural theft best forgotten?"

"Ooh…" Hermione tightened her wrap around her shoulders. She gave him a mock glare. "You promised to never bring up my inability to dance."

"Never to share it with others." His dark eyes glittered. "It is a secret of yours I will always have, Hermione."

Her belly dipped. How did he do that? Turn innocuous words into pure sin and bring with it her need to jump him. Her gaze lingered on his mouth, her own dry and suddenly so very needy. "How did the last ribbon wearer do this?"

His finger stroked the edge of her bottom lip and her mouth parted. "I don't know."

Was he feeling the almost physical pull? The need to kiss and touch and taste? "I want you." Her groan was soft, reluctant and heat burned in her cheeks. She lifted her gaze to his. And found desire burning in their depths. "All the time."

"I believe it is the…overeager magic of the Ribbon and the Ring. We must resist its pull."

Her heart squeezed.  _We_. He'd said we. She ignored the painful fact that he believed it was an enchantment –he was very possibly right— but to have it confirmed that he was equally as caught as her… It put a smile on her lips. "I must be a good little witch whilst others are watching?"

Severus stilled, but it wasn't anger. Hermione's breath caught. Her ribbon  _thrummed_. Thrummed with need and want.  _His_  desires. "The  _perfect_  little witch, Miss Granger."

Her belly fluttered and something dark and wicked coiled within her. Her gloved and stroked the sharp line of his jaw, wanting nothing more than to fist his hair and drag him into a kiss. Fuck, Severus Snape was addictive. She hungered for him. How could she deny or control it? Did they have to go this stupid ball? Couldn't they stay at Prince Albert Mansions? Until March? Three months in bed  _had_  to sate them.

The curricle bounced to a stop and Hermione almost cursed it. The tedium of the night stretched before her, in which her body ached for the only man who could touch her. Who  _wanted_  to touch her. For a moment, she closed her eyes and cursed softly.

Severus took her hand and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "You look beautiful, Hermione. You are an incredible witch and it's my honour to escort you this evening."

Hermione's heart melted and a wry smile touched her mouth. "You're not helping my need to turn this carriage around."

He smirked at her. "Perhaps as your Mentoris, I'm here to guide you in your unruly desires? I was made aware this summer that your bookworm persona disguises a witch of dark passions."

She groaned. He really had to stop. "Severus, please…"

He drew in a breath, his gaze suddenly sharp. "Words for later, I believe." He stepped down and offered her his hand.

"Evil, wicked man," she muttered. "Evil, wicked and  _debauched_  man."

" _Debauchery_ …" His lips brushed her ear, the word hot and velvet soft. "An indulgence in sensual pleasures…"

Hermione held back a moan. "I hate you. I thought you were supposed to help me control my  _unruly desires_."

" _Guide_. Not control."

A little house elf in gleaming silver Malfoy livery cracked into the air before them. "Master Snape. Ribboned-One." She flipped herself into an elaborate bow. "Please be following Pippy." Luminous eyes fixed on Hermione. "It's a great, great honour to be seeing the Ribbon again. A great honour."

Hermione released a hot, tight breath. Her pulse thudded, her mouth dry. He was right there. Elegant, sexy, so clever...and just everything she wanted. Everything. She ached to fist her hands in his hair and drag his lips to hers... But she couldn't. Not  _yet_. That final, delicious thought worked the needed smile for the little house elf. "It's my honour to wear it knowing it keeps you safe."

Pippy squeaked and a blush flooded her flat little face. Her long fingers waved towards the mansion, suddenly speechless, and she trotted towards the house.

Malfoy Manor loomed out of the darkness, an Elizabethan pile, all angles and paned glass, flickering with golden light. Austere and beautiful. The doors to the hall stood open and Hermione's stomach turned over, not even her need for Severus able to wash away her anxiety. Not this time. He  _had_  done a wonderful job of distracting her, but now…

She scrabbled for something, anything, as they followed Pippy. "What am I saving them from?" Her fingers tightened on the cool sleeve of his coat, fighting her panic. "Gret said something about using magic to change them?"

"Elves call it simply 'The Potion'.  _Never_  speak to them of it," Severus murmured, his large had covering hers, his voice calm and measured. "An of age virgin's hands and thigh bones, her tongue and brain form the basis of a dark potion. It breaks the bonds of master and elf."

Hermione frowned. "Clothing does that."

Severus shook his head. "It goes far beyond a mere knitted hat. It transforms the elf. Makes them selfish and lazy, with no desire to work or to serve… Their worst nightmare." He shrugged. "An unknown potioneer created it in sixth century Byzantium. Elves have the myth that it was one of their own, maddened by the plague. Wizards leapt on it. Used it to destroy rival Houses. Take away the service of loyal elves and the family would fall. Even a free elf hungers to work."

"So anyone who denies the ingredients for this Potion, they adore?"

"Indeed."

They were inside the house, when that had happened, Hermione wasn't certain. She'd been caught up in Severus' smooth voice. She pulled in a long breath, the odour of lemon polish, wood and exotic blooms filling her lungs. Not the same. Something was missing. And its lack unnerved her.

"Hermione…" Severus voice was soft. "No one will harm you here. I will not leave you. Our magic will protect you."

"The last witch. It didn't protect  _her_. How—?" Her thoughts jumped, sparking over ideas and information. "Voldemort. Voldemort killed her. And that's what's missing here. Him. Like a layer of stinking rot. Like a corpse under the floorboards. Like—"

"Hermione…" He wrapped warm arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead. His comforting scent surrounded her. "He is gone. Gone. And no one is left who could threaten our magic. No one." His lips brushed her ear. "I. Will. Protect. You."

She believed that. It was the core of who he was. He  _always_  kept his word and he protected others. The raw burning of her nerves faded back and she could take the first easy breath. She looked up at him and smiled. "Perfect witch time."

"The Ribboned-One is feeling better. I'll open the doors now." Pippy bobbed and waved her fingers.

The doors surrounding the all clunked and swung open, prompting Hermione to step out of his loose hold.

Narcissa Malfoy swept forward, all blond and diaphanous silver, a beatific smile gracing her perfect features. "Severus, my dear." She offered her slender, manicured hand for him to kiss. Which he did. "This house is determined to fight me this night. Would you believe none of the doors would open? Lucius was ready to throw a  _Reducto_  at them. At Grinling Gibbons carved doors. Can you believe the nerve of my impetuous husband? He would have us live in a  _sty_."

Narcissa closed her eyes and her tight shoulders dropped into a more elegant line. Sharp blue eyes fixed on Hermione. "Miss Granger." A sure and social smile fixed on her lips. "We are honoured to have you here."

They exchanged curtseys. Severus had held her in place at one point to drive the shape-memory into her muscles. It had insured she'd never forget it. Even then, she could feel the ghosts of his hands on her stomach and spine. "The honour is mine, Lady Malfoy."

And she got that out in a courteous voice with no sarcasm and not a hint of bile. Hermione counted it as a complete win.

"Indeed." Narcissa drew in a breath and swept a graceful arm towards the open doors. Beyond them, was the gleam of lights, chatter and the swelling strains of familiar music. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor's Winter Ball."

 


	19. Chapter 19

I know, bad me. But evil RL has been in the way.

On the plus side, the anthology I was in got to the USA Today Bestsellers list. Yay, for riding on more popular authors' coat tails! *grin*

And today, with most of the crap behind me, and it being almost a  _year_  since I started this little fic (!) here's the first part of the Malfoy Ball (I know,  _finally_...)

* * *

Everyone stared at her.  _Everyone_. From the gimlet glares of the purebloods, to the shining adoration of the hovering house-elves. Her gloved fingers tightened on Severus' sleeve, biting into the smooth fabric and she willed her heart into a slow rhythm.

"Breathe."

Severus' voice held a soft warmth that eased the manic rush of her blood. Hermione lifted her chin. She was a brash, muggle-born Gryffindor in the heart of pure-blooded superiority...and she would beat them at their own rigid game.

She would  _thrash_  them.

And that thought ran over and over in her mind as the ethereal elegance that was Lucius Malfoy swept up to her. "My dear Miss Granger." He flowed into an intricate bow —walking stick and all— before he straightened and fixed one of his sharp smiles on her. Hermione's skin pricked.

"It is an honour." A flick of his head sent an unruly blond lock back over his shoulder. "I am pleased beyond measure that the time of the Ribbon and the Ring is with us again."

Hermione dropped a curtsey, her social smile as diamond-sure as one of Narcissa's own. "It is my pleasure to begin my time as a Ribboned-Witch in your home, Lord Malfoy."

Lies. And he knew it. It was there in the sly twitch of Malfoy's perfect lips. But this was her education. The one Severus had agreed upon. Providing her with the ability to be yet another oh-so-polite shark in the pure-blood pool.

An elf hovered with a tray of champagne saucers. Severus took one –his ring pressed to the glass's low curve— and presented it to her. "Miss Granger." His dark eyes were sharp. Offering a warning.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted the glass, the swirl of protecting magic mixing with the heady feeling of his touch. He'd ensured that Malfoy had not found a way to tamper with her drink.

"From our vineyards at  _Chateau de la Marquetterie_. One of the finest in France." Malfoy breathed in its scent, sipped and swirled the glass. The golden liquid sparkled in the candlelight. His tongue touched his lips and his smile was a mask of pleasantry. "Its taste is something to be  _savoured_ , wouldn't you agree, Miss Granger?"

Hermione held back a shiver at his blatant innuendo. Foul man. "You're a Tattinger, Lord Malfoy?" She'd lined her question with innocence and sipped her champagne. "How marvellous. My grandparents owned a  _gite_  in that part of the Champagne region. I spent many wonderful summers there."

Malfoy stilled for little more than a heartbeat, an dark furrow marring his perfect brow, but then he looked over Hermione's shoulder and a spark danced in his pale eyes. "Madam Athcasta." His gaze fixed on Hermione again. "Miss Granger, may I introduce you to Madam Amelia Athcasta? There is little she doesn't know about the ways of fashion. Her creations are…sublime."

The tall, willowy blonde curtsied, her dark eyes keen. "Miss Granger."

Hermione returned the curtsey, her insides twisting. Bloody Malfoy. He had to know about the…connection, the  _friendship_  between the witch and Severus. Was this a spike meant to cause a tear between them? "Madame Athcasta." She fixed her social smile on Malfoy. "I have the pleasure of wearing one of her creations." She looked to the bulky, brown-haired wizard beside the witch and waited for his introduction.

And waited. Seconds ticked by, meant to make Hermione feel uncomfortable as she could hardly introduce herself.

Athcasta pressed a gloved hand to her lips and Hermione fought not to roll her eyes. Was this all pure-blood society was? These nasty little games? The witch stroked her companion's arm with an elegant hand. "Oh, please, I forget myself, this is Master Clannan Tam. Tam, this is Miss Hermione Granger and Rogue," Athcasta blushed, yet her eyes sparked, "forgive me, an old habit, Master Severus Snape."

_Rogue_. Her pet name for Severus? Another dig. Had Severus once enjoyed these games? Did he still? She pushed down those thoughts and fixed on a mask of polite interest, though she was now being rather effectively ignored. No skin off her nose, as her father would say.

Her thoughts wandered. Would Severus give her a mark for the evening? Presentation? Outstanding. Social discourse? Exceeds expectations. The swell of music swept around her and guests took to the floor in an elegant waltz. A smile lifted her lip. Dancing? Still most definitely a Troll. In  _every_  sense.

Master Tam exclaimed over Severus' brilliance as a Potions Master and her smile deepened. She caught Severus' gaze over the bulky wizard's shoulder and his dark eyebrow arched. Damn, she would  _not_  find his eyebrow sexy. She wouldn't. She drew in a breath, still caught in the wild patter of her pulse. Too late.

Distraction. She needed something to pull her mind away from thoughts of one distinctly sexual Severus Snape. Something academic? Yes. Oh, would he allow her to brew with him? To see –without the risk of the dunderheaded herd threatening life and limb— one of Europe's greatest Potion Masters at work… Her belly dipped and it surprised her that working with him brought her as much excitement as his bloody eyebrow—

Malfoy stepped closer and Hermione's skin pricked. Shit. Severus was right there…but Tam was monopolising him. Her hand brushed the wand sheath sewn discreetly over her right thigh. He'd be a fool to touch her. But the Lucius Malfoy –whilst not a fool— did believe himself above and beyond every law. That he was free and apparently blameless rather proved his point

He stared out over the gathering crowd, lifting his glass in a salute to his son who loitered with his old school cronies at the edge of the dancefloor. Draco smirked and Hermione's fingers itched, the rising need to punch him again threading under her skin.

Malfoy's voice dropped low, his breath flaring across her jaw. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. Bastard. Severus could take him in a duel. But she couldn't risk it. In three months, the Agreement would be over. Neither of them could afford to make an open enemy of Lucius Malfoy.  _Fuck_.

There was a smile in his voice. "It is fitting is it not, that the reappearance of the Ribbon and the Ring should happen here."

Hermione resisted the urge to take another sip of champagne. She needed a clear head. Malfoy was too close. The scent of him, something acrid, like soured ginger, burned across her senses. He was alluding to the last ribboned-witch. He wanted to rattle her. Yet again, bastard. Her magic screamed that the poor witch had met her death in the gilded Manor. Most likely at Voldemort's own hand…

She willed her breathing even and sure. She glanced at Malfoy, holding his pale gaze. "Her end…colours the magic of your home?"

Malfoy's perfect lips twitched upwards. "Does it really?" And the bastard seemed  _pleased_. He let out a long breath, shifted his weight on his walking stick to strike an elegant pose and took another sip from his glass. As if horror and death were another form of fashion. "She was a charming girl. Beautifully bred. Such a shame. Miss Dymphna Taggart –a scion of the Abbott family— attended this very ball twenty nine years ago. Her Mentoris was a…muggle-born." His mouth turned down over the word. "Lord Voldemort saw it as, well, simply a step too far. Tell me, Miss Granger, what could a  _muggle-born_  know of our ways?"

His grey eyes fixed on her over the rim of his glass and a chill ran over her skin. Was he telling the truth? Oh, she could feel the fact that Voldemort had executed the last ribboned-witch, it had scraped under her skin, against her bones, but was the  _reason_  true?

"If he were attentive and learned, a great deal, Lord Malfoy. A very great deal."

His gaze narrowed. "Indeed."

"Miss Granger." Severus was breaking his own rule by interrupting their conversation, but she was glad of it. "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"

Hermione offered her gloved hand as an elf appeared with a tray and she disposed of her glass. "The pleasure is mine, Master Snape."

"I have enjoyed our conversation." There was an edge to Malfoy's voice that ran ice through her flesh. "We will speak again, Miss Granger."

Her answer was a brief nod, before all too quickly -and happily- she and Severus were swept into the growing crowd of dancers. Hermione let out a long, low sigh. Severus' scent surrounded her, the heat, the strength of him bringing the feeling of safety that Malfoy robbed from her. What did he want? She shoved down the obvious thought, not letting herself think it. No. Not that... And for a moment, she luxuriated in the protection Severus offered, letting him lead her around the dance floor, his hand firm at her waist, the other laced through hers, with his steps sure and graceful in the swirl of music. There was nothing but him. Only him.

She met his gaze, the knots twisting in her stomach for wholly other reasons than the odious Lord Malfoy. The light glistened in his dark eyes and edged gold over his sharp features. He would deny it with his last breath, but in that moment he was beautiful. And hers.  _Hers_.

She caught a flash of long, white-blond hair and her thoughts jerked back to Malfoy. "Don't ever leave me alone again with  _him_ , please, Severus."

He frowned and his mouth thinned. "Did he touch you?"

"No," her fingers flexed in his tight hold, "no. But I don't trust him to obey the rules. I don't want to put you in the position where you would have to duel a friend."

" _Friend_." He huffed a laugh and swung her expertly beyond the wild gyrations of Tracey Davies and Marcus Flint. "Though I am glad to see you're beginning to play the game."

Hermione pouted and earned a smile from him, making her heart beat just that bit faster. Her gaze delayed on his mouth and all thought of the ball, of games and words and politics fell away. All fear of Lucius Malfoy incinerated. There was only the memory of Severus' lips on her skin, the stroke of his fingers driving heat and joy deep,  _deep_  into her flesh—

She blinked and met his darkened gaze. Desire burned there. Anticipation be damned. She had to know. "Tonight." She wet parched lips and willed her question out. "What will happen tonight, Severus?"

His lips brushed the exposed shell of her ear and Hermione bit her lip to deny a moan. Her fingers pressed hard into his shoulder, even as his smile curved against her skin. "I will give you…pleasure."

She swallowed and her heart pounded. The ache between her thighs pulsed and only his sure footing kept her moving around the dancefloor. What he could do to her with a few words was almost impossible. "Tell me. Please."

"How should I have you, Hermione?"

She closed her eyes. She hardly knew what she wanted, her experience gleaned from the illicit reading of some of Lavender Brown's more racy novels, but…Severus had opened her eyes. Her senses. Her  _sensuality_. And there, racing through her mind, the heat and taste of bared skin, of fingers and mouths, the play of tongues and teeth on every inch of her skin, of  _his,_  seared her thoughts. "Have me in every way. Take everything.  _Please_ , Severus."

Severus groaned, something low and almost desperate. It rumbled though her. "Oh my little witch…" It was half endearment, half growl and Hermione's chest bloomed. In that moment, she didn't care if the magic of the Ribbon and the Ring drew him to her. He wanted her. Just as eagerly as she wanted him.

Severus drew back and his gaze fixed on her. He breathed. In and out. Fighting with every ounce of strength he had to bring his errant body back under his control and will down the erection that took all of his blood from his brain.  _Fuck_. She couldn't offer herself in such a way.

He crushed the thought of after, when she was no longer his, and another man would hear her plea— No.  _No_. He'd teach her never to give herself like that to another man.  _Never_. Because he'd almost dragged her from the floor, propriety blasted to dust, in his need to simply  _have_  her. Now. Right now.

Severus swept her around another knot of rampaging elephants, forcing his anger and need into the dance. Control. He had to find balance and control. His breath evened. There... But he caught a flash of narrowed grey eyes.  _Malfoy_. He was too aware of Lucius watching them. Watching Hermione.  _Wanting_  her. Anger swelled anew in his gut. Never. Never with him. "We will leave after supper."  _Shit_. So much for his much vaunted self discipline.

Hermione gave him a breathless smile. "Promise?"

Fuck, he was hard again. Yes, the little witch would be the death of him.

* * *

I love reviews. I've missed them!


	20. Chapter 20

I was leaving this chapter to brew overnight, but then I thought...nah. So here's the next instalment a little earlier than promised.

 

* * *

 

Hermione lost herself to the music, to the dance and to Severus Snape. The thrum of need scorched under skin. And for waltz after waltz, her gaze fixed on his heated, obsidian eyes. They didn't speak. She didn't dare… And she didn't let herself think. Simply feel the…assurance he'd given her. A promise of pleasure.

She couldn't stop the delicious shiver that raced through her.

"They will call for supper soon." A dark twist to Severus' mouth said the promise was sharp in his mind too. He spun a graceful end to their waltz, though he didn't release her, his arm still sure around her waist. "And it appears," he drew his finger through a long curl that had broken free of Gret's fierce styling, "that I have worked you hard."

His mouth dipped to her ear. "I don't want to tire you out completely. Not  _yet_."

Hermione bit down a smile. "Evil man."

He stood back and offered her his arm. His eyebrow lifted. "As you say."

They moved through the guests, more than one sneering gaze flicking over her ribbon. Hermione met their disdain with the imperious bearing of a queen, her lips curled into a mysterious smile. Some part of her mind knew she was channelling Severus. And from his sly smirk, the wizard whose arm she held knew it too.

"My little protégé."

His whisper caught her breath and brought yet more warmth to her heated cheeks...as Draco Malfoy slipped from the bustle of guests knotting before an arched doorway. Goyle and Crabbe hung behind him, his familiar, hulking pets. Leers twisted their heavy features, whilst Draco tried to emulate his father. All elegance and style. He failed.

Lucius Malfoy was an animal, a predator. Even as Hermione loathed him, she had to recognise that fact. He was to admired in the same way as a big jungle cat. Sleek, beautiful, but best met when the beast was caught behind heavy bars. Draco, even in his expensive finery, sculpted features and white-blond hair, was more of a housecat. Still, she should be wary. Even a tabby had claws.

"Uncle." Draco bowed. "Father has been looking for you." His lip curled. "For both of you."

"I'm sure he can find me, Draco. I am hardly…inconspicuous."

His godson huffed a laugh, but then his nose wrinkled and his grey gaze slid over her in a slow assessment. He snapped his eyes back to hers and she fought the wince at the exaggerated lust in his eyes. "And of course who would  _not_  take note of  _Hermione_ —"

Draco blinked and swallowed, his throat bobbing against the sharp stab of a wand. A flash of red cut across the top of his cheeks, his mouth gaping. The tip of the wand turned in his skin and he grimaced.

"Miss Granger is a Ribboned-Witch, boy." Severus voice was cool and quiet. The wizard at his most dangerous. "The wearing of the ribbon is a sacred honour.  _You_  know that. Try to remember your manners in future." His wand vanished back into his robes. "Now, please excuse us."

The three Slytherins scrambled from their path, and Hermione and Severus left the ball room into the relative calm of a smaller hall. Witches and wizards milled, the noise of the main room lessened. Hermione was unwilling to break the silence that pushed up between them. The stress Severus had placed with Draco—

Her stomach flipped. A Magister had introduced Draco to the art of sex. Hermione shuddered away from the thought of Draco being…intimate with anyone… Yet another foul thought on a foul night. Was every event, every ball and party, going to be as awful? Had Severus put himself in danger by threatening Lucius' son?

"Hermione…" Severus let out a slow breath and escorted her down a short set of stairs to yet another hall. Sconces flickered over two great doors set on either side of the odd-shaped room and danced shadows over peering portraits. He flicked a quick  _muffliato_  and his lips twitched upwards. "Don't be concerned. There is still hope for Draco. For all his posturing, he is not his father."

"Lucius is the threat."

"Lucius is  _always_  the threat." Severus ended the charm. "The ladies dressing room is here on the left. Allow a house-elf to attend you." He eased her arm free and the loss of his warmth, his touch formed a hollow in her chest. "I will wait for you here."

"I'm not going anywhere without you." Her gaze flicked over the ornate ceiling, perfect and beautiful…and with the sour stink of death cut into its magic. It was a hateful place. "Not here."

His thumb stroked a slow line across her lips and she smiled against the light touch. "We will never come here again."

"Another promise?"

Severus frowned at her, but humour shone in his endless eyes. "I seem to be making far too many of those to you."

Hermione willed herself to step back from him. He was completely addictive. "But Severus Snape is a man who  _always_  keeps his promises…"

His smile was wicked. "Yes. Yes, I do."

The humour in his eyes had burned into something darker, hotter and Hermione's pulse spiked. Damn, she had to get away before she jumped him in front of some old hag of a witch. Hardly the sign of an elegant and cultured witch.

She slipped into the dressing room and closed the heavy door on Severus' heated gaze. She resisted the very unladylike urge to sink her forehead against the wood and give in to a long, agonised moan. Being with him was a delicious torture. And they still had the nightmare of the supper to go.

The cool air of the ladies dressing room washed over Hermione's heated skin and pulled her thoughts back into the present. In the soft light, the large, vaulted space bustled with guests. Elves pattered between the witches, dressing tables and ornately framed cheval mirrors, attending to every need. Hermione pressed a hot, gloved hand to her flushed cheek and let her tightened shoulders drop. What she truly needed was a deeply padded chair and her feet plunged into a bucket of ice.

Severus had felt it necessary for her stay with him on the dancefloor. And she hadn't argued. Even if her feet now did. His arms, strength and warmth, or the iced grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy? There was no contest. None. Her want of Severus had sharpened and drove a fresh and constant ache through her flesh. That had done little to help her coordination, though, even Severus had to admit, her waltz had even crawled all the way up to a decent Dreadful.

A little elf scuttled up and cast an added cooling charm over her. Hermione grinned down at the small, wizened creature in her bright, white pillowcase. "Thank you so much."

"My honour, Ribboned-One." The elf sketched a bow. "Can Itzy be helping with your hair and robes?"

Hermione winced. She was all too aware that Gret's hard work with her troublesome hair had come loose. "Please."

Itzy narrowed her large eyes. "Though I think you needs to be sitting first." She waved her spindly fingers and a deep, wingback chair appeared against the nearest wall. She tutted. "The Master of the Ring has you too much on your feet."

Hermione willingly sank into the most comfortable chair,  _ever_ , in the history of the entire world, the cool fabric and cushioning supporting her weary body. A padded stool appeared and her aching feet found their own comfort. Damn, she could get used to being this pampered.

Itzy grinned at her. "It's our pleasure to care for you."

Hermione opened her eyes to find the shy glances of the other elves on her. It was strange to think that she'd always pushed for elvish freedom and yet, the ribbon kept them as they were. And they loved her for it.

Itzy wove her magic around Hermione's feet, spirals of light and a whisper of air. Hermione pressed her lips together to deny an undignified groan. More than one witch was already staring at her, with hard eyes fixed on the ribbon at her throat.

"Something cool, Ribboned-One."

Another elf offered her smooth glass of cold water. Hermione smiled, letting that cover her pause. Severus' warning skittered through her thoughts, but she trusted the house elves. They'd let no harm come to her. The water was a joy to her parched mouth and eased a wanted chill into her flesh.

Izty tutted again. "Too much dancing. Poor feet. Poor toes." A final flick of her spindly fingers broke the spirals of her magic. "I will be having words with the Master of the Ring."

Hermione wiggled her toes in her delicate, silk shoes. The tingle of fresh cushioning charms forced a grin at their tickling over sensitive skin. "Thank you, Itzy."

The elf wagged a long finger. "Take time to sit."

"I promise, I will."

Itzy gave a decisive nod and urged Hermione to her feet. Standing again, Hermione gasped. The charms were pure air. She felt light, dainty and a sudden match for Severus' skill. "You want me to sit, and yet you give me dancing shoes."

Itzy snorted. "You have an elf in your household?"

"A Hogwart's elf. Gret."

"Ah, I knows of him. A good elf." Itzy said with another of her sure nods. "I will be giving him this charm." Her fingers spun again and a cool wash of air and power ran swift around her hair. Tendrils of magic drew across her face. "And now your robes." There was little work needed there. As much as Hermione disliked Madam Athcasta, she couldn't deny her skill as a master tailor.

"Then it's true." The sharp voice of Pansy Parkinson carried over the chatter and noise of the room. A deliberate act. Hermione had little doubt of that. She stood in a knot of other witches before the mullioned windows, holding court as she had at school. A little elf attended to the snagged hem of her robes. "There really is a ribbon-witch here tonight."

Hermione stopped herself from rolling her eyes…and muffled a laugh as Pansy let out a sudden yelp. The swift and oh-so-sincere apologies of a house-elf followed.

Other voices rose and fell, ones Hermione couldn't quite make out. There wouldn't be anything kind said, so she focused on the final moments of Itzy's magic. With a flourish, the little elf clapped her large hands. "Miss is perfect."

Hermione grinned, but it faded as clear words burst from the far corner of the room, laced with derision.

"Oh, her gown is  _muggle_. Obviously." Pansy again, her voice not quite as strident, but still distinct. "And what material? Something  _synthetic_. It hardly hangs as proper robes should—"

"Miss Granger."

A cold stone dropped hard into Hermione's belly and the opinion of her former classmates became nothing. Shit. Madame Athcasta. She and Malfoy were up to something, she was certain. But her actions –to distract Severus— were putting him in the dangerous position of having to duel Lucius Malfoy to protect the honour of the Ribbon and the Ring. Did she want Severus for herself? Did he want  _her_?

That thought sent a hot anxious wave though her flesh, but a breath steadied her.  _Witch not muggle._  And the belief repeated, hard, in mind.

Hermione turned, her polite smile fixed in place. She gave a sure curtsey. Well, the witch did have  _one_  use. "Madam Athcasta. Thank you for designing such a marvellous dress for me. I'm sure I'm quite envied tonight."

A gasp behind her told her she'd put those hags in their place. "If you'll excuse me, Severus is waiting."

Athcasta's eyes narrowed, a slight crease, before a pleasant smoothness returned. "He asked me to bring you up to the hall."

Shit.  _Shit_. Had he? The bloody witch was his friend and he saw no problem with her. Had used her to make a point. Did  _he_  feel she wasn't a true threat? It would be impolite to refuse…and the coven of witches by the windows were looking for any minor infraction to exaggerate. Not that she cared what they thought, but they'd used her failure as a chance to deride her as a ribbon-wearer. Merlin, how were the most simple of things -for example, telling Madame Athcasta to shove a broom up it- becoming so complicated?

Hermione lifted her chin. She'd survived Mad Bella in this very house. Amelia Athcasta? Piece of cake. She waved a gloved hand to the door. "Lead on, Madame."

Athcasta frowned, but stepped forward as an elf opened the door. It bobbed to Hermione and murmured "Ribboned-One". She nodded in return and gave a small smile, but her attention was focused on the witch ahead of her and the disturbingly empty room beyond.

Hermione's skin itched and she wanted her wand in her hand. Was her ribbon pulsing her unease to Severus?

Athcasta brushed a hand over a non-existent crease in her gown. "I have been a friend to Rogue for many years.  _Many_  years."

"So I believe." Hermione wouldn't ask after the pet name. She wouldn't. She lifted an eyebrow. Did Athcasta think that she would simper? Or demand breathless questions? She'd be waiting a long time for that reaction.

After a few rapid heartbeats on Hermione's part, the other witch presented her with a sure smile and led the way up the short, twisting run of stairs to the hall above. "Together we have suffered many trials." Her softly accented whisper drifted down in the scented air. "And there is  _very_  little I would not do for my Rogue."

Hermione ignored the aching twist in her chest. Damn the witch. Was she laying claim to Severus? Did she already have a claim? No. Severus Snape wouldn't have agreed to being her Mentoris if he was already involved with another witch… Would he? She closed off that thought. He'd always declared his life beyond her would be his own.

Light flickered around Hermione, the oil-glinting eyes of too many portraits following her. Voices hissed just below her hearing. Foul place. Was it the magic of the ribbon giving her a sensitivity to the Manor? She clung to Severus' promise that they would never,  _never_  ever come back to this benighted house.

Athcasta stepped out into the bustle of the hall, the push of witches and wizards thickening as the dancing began to wind down and conversation –and game playing— became the new attraction. She wove though the melee, Hermione in her wake. This was wrong. Severus wouldn't expose her like this…

Hermione's gaze darted around, eager for the Potion Master's tall, black-clad form, something that would be obvious in the glitter and pomp. No. Not a sign of him. Anywhere. Shit. She pushed down on the heavy wave of panic rising up from her belly. Where was he?

"Ah, Miss Granger…"

Fuck.  _Fuck_.

Lucius Malfoy was all elegance beside her. She was an idiot. She'd suspected it was a trap, but still, she'd walked into it. And the odious Madame Athcasta had become smoke, abandoning her to the wizard beside her.

Hermione presented him with a curtsey, her face fixed in yet another polite mask. She should've opted for Severus as her Magister. A month in bed with him. Bliss. But, no, she wanted to fit in with the insanity that was the wizarding world… More fool her. "Lord Malfoy."

"The inestimable Madame Athcasta seems to have lost you in the crowd." He lifted a pale eyebrow. "Do you know of her history?"

"A little." Hermione stopped a frown. Where was he going with this?

"It's a sad tale. She was betrothed to our very own Severus. They met as he completed his Mastery." Malfoy sighed, his jaw angled in such a way to catch the light and gild his perfect features in gold. Hermione couldn't admire him.  _Betrothed_?

"They were once a perfect couple. A fine blending of magics. Truly." His grey eyes fixed on hers, cool and sure, and she stilled, praying that she didn't show any reaction to his hated words. "It ended. She married another and Severus was utterly broken. Naturally. Madame Athcasta –Miss Amelia Tibault, as was— is a rare witch. A sought after specimen. Elegant. Excellent lineage. Beautifully bred. Brimming with skill and intelligence.  _Worthy_  of a wizard such as Severus Snape."

Was he trying to point out how hopeless engaging Severus was at the end of her time with him? That only magic bound him to her? She knew that already. Still, Lucius Malfoy was a hateful man.

"And for you, Miss Granger, it's never too early to begin your own perusal of what is available." He pointed his snake-headed walking stick into the bustle of his guests. "At my Winter Ball, you are getting the best in show." His smile was shark-bright. "The finest cuts, as it were."

He inched closer. Hermione stopped breathing as his sour odour filled her senses. Her heartbeat skittered and a wandless hex burned on her tongue. A long lock of his silken hair brushed over her collarbone, pricking her skin and with it, his aristocratic voice curled just above a whisper. "Of course, I will be first."

"First?"

"My dear Miss Granger, my son informs me you are an intelligent witch. This ribbon," his manicured finger drew a line across her throat, a skim of air, and she shuddered, "is simply the beginning of your parade into proper society. After the Ribbon, comes The Card."

Hermione's stomach turned over. Here was her most dreaded thought. She known what he wanted. The Card. And  _first_. His place on it.

"Of course, when I am done," his hot gaze slid over her like oil "however long that may take until I am  _satisfied_ , you will have Draco as your second. You doubt me, Miss Granger?" A sly smile lifted his perfect mouth, the shine in his pale eyes loathsome. "The Lord Malfoy never follows the wizarding herd." He bit out the word with a sneer. "Make no mistake,  _Hermione_ , when your ribbon breaks, I  _will_  be the first to fuck you."

* * *

Let me know what you think! :)


	21. Chapter 21

Oh, a very naughty word alert in Severus' POV.

* * *

"Master Tam…"

Severus lips pinched together and he let his wand slip into this hand.

Amelia's…companion had urged him into the gentleman's dressing room with some –he admitted, interesting— proposals for a future collaboration. Then the over-eager wizard had shut the door. Blocking Severus' view of the hall.

The dead weight of being Hermione's Mentoris, of being polite to a fool he would normally hex into a stain on Lucius' priceless Persian rug dragged at him. Other wizards were watching. Waiting. He wouldn't dishonour Hermione by being…well, himself.

"And of course, with it, we would improve upon the Star Grass Salve, thereby—"

"Tam!" He bit out the name.  _Enough_. But  _that_  demand went unsaid. He would not risk leaving Hermione alone in this bloody house. "Owl me. My duty now is to my witch."

"Of course!" Tam clapped both scarred hands over one of Severus' and shook it heartily. Severus would never risk a laboratory with the wizard, he was certain of that. Clannan Tam was a danger to himself and others from the evidence of his burns and scars. "Of course, don't let me hold you back any longer."

Severus frowned at him and swept out of the room. The hall was empty.  _Fuck_. How long had Tam delayed him? He rapped his knuckles on the other dressing room door and it creaked open, just enough for a little elf to peer up it him. She beamed.

"Master of the Ring! How may I be helping you?"

"Is Miss Granger within?"

The elf's ears flattened, her shoulders drooping. "The Ribboned-One left with another witch."

Severus bit back a curse, nodded to the elf and tore up the twisting stairs. What was Amelia playing at? Only she could orchestrate this. Drag a famous Irish Potions Master to a Malfoy Ball and throw  _them_  together. A distraction. Why? She'd made it quite plain she didn't like Hermione…but to do this? In Lucius' Manor? What had the girl done to her to earn it?

The crowd of witches and wizards was a wall of glittering fabrics and overpowering perfumes. And…fuck, his Ring was hot, searing his skin. Fear and disgust thickened in his flesh. Draco? No. Hermione's reaction to him had been…less…

_Lucius_. And he was fucking  _touching_  her. The…cunt. Something slight. Fleeting. His precious mane against her collarbone. Severus fingers fisted around his wand and flickers of magic sparked from his Ring. The horror of the other wizard's touch burned his own skin. And with it, a foul lust that turned his stomach.

Severus' own magic churned. Fuck. Fuck.  _Fuck_. Duelling Lucius Malfoy –as much as he'd love to hand the wizard his arse— would destroy Hermione's future. She'd knew that, too. Which was why the air wasn't sizzling with  _her_  hexes.

Merlin's balls. He was caught as if he still balanced the world between two insane megalomaniacs. Why the hell did a psychopath such as Lucius Malfoy hold this much power and influence in the world?

Severus pushed through the throngs of people, wincing tight smiles at one witch and wizard after another. Gods, he was fucking  _Severus Snape_. They should be scrambling away from him as if he were a hungover Hungarian Horntail—

"Severus." Narcissa touched his arm and met his gaze. Anger and determination gleamed in her darkened eyes.

Another who had to find balance, though Narcissa had to live till her death with her foul husband. Had she known of Lucius' plan? Did she have a plan of her own?

The witch looked back into the noisy crowd. A deliberate move. "Enjoy the rest of your evening." And with that, she slipped away.

What…? Severus followed the path her gaze had taken… And a dark smile curved his lips.

Oh, well played, Narcissa. She would do nicely. Very nicely, indeed.

* * *

Hermione's stomach clenched and the little food she'd eaten before they'd left for the Ball stabbed at her. Sourness burned. For all his beauty, Lucius Malfoy was truly vile. "I have yet to decide on my Card, Lord Malfoy. I believe the choice rests  _first_  with the ribbon-wearer." She didn't phrase it as a question. Just as he hadn't.

"It is the way of things, Hermione." His aristocratic voice ran with a sharpened edge now. "A Malfoy goes before all. It is an accepted fact." His smile was more of a sneer. "Just  _what_  is Severus teaching you?"

Her pulse thudded, but she was not rising to that bait. Would he, would both of the obnoxious Malfoys, lay claim to every single witch or wizard who wore the ribbon? Or was it because she was who she was? The mudblood. The girl who —with her friends— had reduced his master and most of his House to little more than ash?

She lifted her chin, too aware that she was making an enemy in the scintillating beauty of his Manor. Anyone else she could hex, just as Severus had ordered, but not this wizard. Again a Malfoy was beyond the accepted rules. Git. "As I said, the choice of whom I take to my bed is mine. Not yours."

His voice cut above a growl and his knuckles whitened around the head of his walking stick. "Miss Granger—"

"Lucius!"

The crush of guests surged and Hermione stared up at the tall, thin form of Augusta Longbottom striding through hastily parting people.

She blinked. Hermione had last scene Neville's Grandmother at the Battle of Hogwarts, dirty and bloodied. Now, she looked…regal, dressed in dark, intimidating silks, with no sign of a vulture about her person.

Hermione curtsied, relieved at the interruption. "Lady Augusta."

Augusta gave her a curt nod. "Miss Granger. A pleasure, as always. More so to see the ribbon about your throat. Well done, girl. Where…" She glanced about her, her sharp eyes narrowed. "Ah, there you are, Severus."

Her Mentoris slipped in beside her and Hermione gratefully put her arm though his, easing herself away from Malfoy. Severus' hand covered hers, the gentle squeeze quashing away the last of her fear. Her questions, her worries could wait. She shoved down his history with Madame Athcasta. For now. It didn't matter in that moment. He was back with her.

Severus gave the older witch an elegant nod. "Lady Augusta," he murmured. There was a curl of a smile to his lips, polite, sure…but Hermione had been living with him for days. Staring at him. Studying him. Yes, there was also a hint of satisfaction in that smile. He was up to something.

Augusta flipped her gloved hand at Malfoy. She huffed out a tight breath. "Well, Lucius?" Her stentorian voice carried and a swell of quiet took the surrounding witches and wizards. Ears didn't need to strain. Not at that volume. "If your father had had his way, you wouldn't have such a lack in manners.  _I_  would have ensured the ribbon at  _your_  throat made you well aware of them."

Unbelievably, a touch of pink topped Malfoy's cheeks. Augusta Longbottom had been – _would_  have been?— the Mentoris to Lord Malfoy? Hermione's gaze flicked to the listening guests and caught more than one look of disbelief, of shock. Of dark and delighted amusement. Had it not been widely known? Had Malfoy kept it a secret? And now he had the mortification of it revealed –loudly— before the multitude of every pureblood he knew.

Malfoy swept into one of this exaggerated bows. "Lady Augusta."

"Of course, Tom Riddle –odious little tick— spread his foulness, the Ribbon and the Ring fell away and for us it was not to be." She shook her head. "Poor Dymphna. A sweet girl. And Ian. He never did recover." Her dark eyes fixed on a so-very-still Malfoy. His magic thickened the air, but he could hardly hex the witch before him for insulting Voldemort or his actions.

Augusta sighed. "I do believe –if such a thing were truly possible— that those two would have shared rings."

Malfoy's mouth twitched upwards in a show of politeness, but his pale eyes were cold. "As you say, a myth, madam."

A sly smirk grew on Augusta's mouth, and a wicked shine to her gaze revealed another witch entirely. Someone dark and decadent. "Was that your fear, Lucius, dear? I had not yet met my wonderful Horatio when your father contracted me for your…education." She tapped a bony finger to the tip of Malfoy's perfect nose. More than one wizard gasped at her daring to touch him so…intimately. She leant in close, but still, her voice carried. "Of course, there was still the role of Magister…"

Malfoy's eyes were wide. "Lady Augusta, if you would excuse me? I believe my wife has need of me."

And Lucius Malfoy, the scourge of wizarding society, fled.

Hermione had to remember to breathe, to stay calm. She bit the inside of her cheek to deny a fierce grin. Oh, she had to put this in a letter to Neville. Or offer him the memory. After the horror of only a moment before, it was joyous.

Augusta took a saucer of champagne from a passing elf and tray, lifted it to Hermione and winked. "Cheers!"

Hermione pressed a gloved hand to her mouth to fight back her desperate bark of laughter. Merlin, she wanted to hug the witch till she squeaked.

Severus bowed his head, his voice soft as he murmured, "My most sincere thanks, Lady Augusta."

The witch let out a long breath and grinned at them both. Her voice lost its strident edge. "It was a pleasure. I've waited a long,  _long_  time for that." She bowed her head. "Miss Granger, Severus. If you'll excuse me? I left my companion caught with an awful troll of wizard. I must rescue him."

And she surged into a reverently parting crowd.

Hermione stared after her for a moment, before she looked to the wizard beside her. She shook her head. "Severus, what was that?"

He gave her a short smile, his dark gaze on the still-watching witches and wizards. "Not here. Later. I promise."

A soft laugh escaped her. "And yet another one."

"I  _am_  going to lose count."

She could wait. In the moment, simply having him next to her, his power, his strength…it was enough. It was. Until the gnawing uncertainty returned all too soon.

_My life is my own._

The words, spoken in his velvet-lined voice, haunted her thoughts. He'd been betrothed to Amelia Athcasta. Could she believe Malfoy? After all, his…his  _devotion_ to Lily Evans had driven Severus to defeat Voldemort. And what did the witch mean to him now? A friend? More? Madame Athcasta certainly seemed very…proprietary.

Hermione fixed a smile on her face as Severus led her through a succession of gilded rooms to the brightly light supper hall. She knew so little about the man whom she'd invited into her bed. And the more she learnt, the less likely it was that his desire for her was little beyond the agreement that bound them.

But…he was here with her now. Had obviously arranged –somehow— for Augusta Longbottom to publically humiliate Lucius Malfoy to drive him away. What she had with him would…suffice. And after, well, it was doubtful she'd look at another wizard for a long time. A  _very_  long time.

The noise of the supper hall smacked into her and Hermione shoved down her melancholy thoughts. A sea of round tables, covered with snowy white clothes and gleaming silver filled the room. Flocks of gleaming birds, little more than a burst of wings and a fixed point of golden light, lit the vast space. Everything shone and mixed with it, was the delicate but addictive scent of a winter forest that teased her scenes…tugging at ancient, hardly known memories of magic and feasting.

It would be beautiful a beautiful scene. But this was Malfoy Manor. The cut of sour darkness was always,  _always_  present.

"He's moved us," Severus murmured, as he saw her seated at a large round table.

Two wizards stared at her from across their table with disconcerting heat and she held back a groan. Honestly, didn't they think of anything else? Or was it the same draw as the vile Malfoy? A taste of the first ribbon-wearer in decades.

Hermione flicked a glance around the room and found Malfoy seated at a raised table to the front of the hall. Narcissa, Draco, Astoria Greengrass, and two others whom she didn't recognise, sat with him.

"We've been snubbed, my dear."

Hermione smirked at Severus as he sat beside her. "I'm stricken."

"And we meet again!"

Hermione's heart turned over at the sudden, booming voice. Master Tam, pulled out a chair beside Severus and Madame Athcasta arranged herself elegantly upon it.

The witch let out a happy little sigh. "How fortunate for us that we're seated here." Her smile was quiet and edged with a definite smugness. "Quite the coincidence."

Hermione wondered how elegant the witch would look with a fierce application of a pus-squirting hex. "Yes.  _Quite_."

* * *

Ugh, Madame Athcasta just plonked herself down at their table. I was  _not_  expecting that! *sigh*

Oh, and I named Neville's grandfather something suitably heroic. The poor wizard didn't have a name. lol

 


	22. Chapter 22

I'm glad you liked how I dealt with Lucius. I was thinking, public shame for a wizard like him would hit harder and deeper than any number of hexes… ;-)

Also this is later than expected and shorter. Madame Athcasta put a spanner in the works by plonking herself at their table. I had to rethink how I played her...

* * *

Amelia had ignored him through the first two courses, instead focusing her attention on the weak-chinned wizard next to her. Though Severus had caught that man's gaze sliding more than once from her to Hermione. Severus gut knotted at the gleam of speculation in the inbred idiot's eyes.

He held down a wince and stabbed at a carrot. He'd have a bloody ulcer by March.

He could feel them  _all_  watching her. Any subtly had simply vanished as they practically salivated over the young witch next to him. All-to-eager to dip into the magic of the Ribbon-wearer…

Severus took a mouthful of wine to wash away the foul taste in his mouth. His thumb worked the ring on his finger, turning its warmth against his skin. The ancient magic threaded insanity through his flesh. Before Miss Hermione Granger had…coerced him into putting the ribbon to her throat, he'd hardly given another thought to the numerous witches who'd worked their way between –and through— his sheets.

He'd found a mutual delight in their flesh…and felt no pang when the witch, or he, had moved on.  _They_  slept with a fiction. The Dark Hero of the war. The Broken Spy, who had slaved only for his Lost Love.

Severus sneered into his glass, watching the fountain of deep red wine bubble up to refill the goblet. He frowned. Yes, he'd been far too lenient on Rita Skeeter.

"Rogue…"

Severus eyes narrowed on Amelia. She dragged out her old endearment for him when she wanted to push nails under his skin. It was a name from the time of their betrothal. She'd forgiven him for his actions then, but still guilt pricked him. Her use of Rogue brought it back every time. And the manipulating witch knew it.

He put down his glass. A headache pinched at the edge of his temples and he became as unsubtle as the leering wizards that surrounded them. "What are you about, Amelia?"

The witch pressed a delicate, ungloved hand to her throat. Still her voice was low when she asked, "Me? You are the one playing games,  _Severus_." Her gaze darted to Hermione and back again. "A virgin? You?"

He could hardly begin to explain why he'd agreed to be Hermione's Mentoris. The excuse he'd used with Lucius –of it being a thumbing his nose to the shocked Order— would hardly work with Amelia. It was  _also_  that. He couldn't acknowledge how, in that draughty library, a deeply buried part of him had wanted Hermione. Someone so pure…and  _his_.

He lifted an eyebrow, his thoughts shoved hard behind occluding shields. "I am in a sacred office." His lips lifted, the hint of a smile sure and touched with arrogance. He dropped his voice. Something slow, deliberate. "It's not all…physical, Amelia.

The witch's eyes darkened. She'd always been susceptible to his voice. "This is you. It is  _always_  physical."

"And is this what Lucius offered you?" He looked to the table, his gaze narrowing on an ebullient Master Tam. He was sitting too close to Hermione, broad shoulders a mere inch from hers. Only a hint of disquiet threaded through his ring. Hermione didn't feel threatened. Severus turned back to Amelia. "He offered you this? Me?"

The witch gave an easy shrug. "He's a Malfoy. She's the first ribboned-witch in a generation. He was being himself. Why should I not benefit?"

"Leave her be." Anger at his old friend twisted tight in his stomach. "Through your actions, he  _touched_  her, Amelia."

"Honestly, this surprises you? He's beyond any law, sacred or otherwise. He always will be. It would be best for her, and for you, to recognise this. He will have her, Severus. Make no doubt." She stared up, and the brilliance of the lighting caught in her dark eyes. A wry smile pulled at her lips. "And she will fall before him. Before  _this_. This wealth and power. Every witch he's ever wanted always has." She fixed on him again, her face set and serious. "You  _know_  that."

Amelia patted his hand and to his surprise, he flinched. "Save yourself the…complications of going up against him." Something shifted in her gaze. Compassion? Worry? What was the witch up to? She drew a pattern against the back of his hand. A rune to light to catch. "Come March she will be gone. They always go. You know  _that_ , too."

Yes, he knew it. All too well. Oh, Hermione seemed to want him know -a result of the magic flaring between them- but that would fade. Fall away over time. She was young and clever with the world before her.

The ribbon-wearer never stayed with her Mentoris. And that knowledge was a sour burn in his gut.

* * *

Hermione poked her golden dessert fork into remains of her decadent pudding. Only at a Malfoy supper would afters come layered in gold dust. She laid her fork across the glitter and the gold-rimmed plate vanished. Hermione picked up water goblet, her fingers teasing over the ornate stem.

She took a sip and put it down, every action deliberate. Her stomach was in knots. Oh, every course had been ostentatiously delicious. Cooked, displayed and served to perfection. But the company…

The wizards at the table had leered and offered more than one foul innuendo. A quiet look from Severus had at least silence them. Though their leers remained. Master Callan Tam had, not exactly talked down to her, but there'd been a level of condescension that made her want to stab her little golden fork into his meaty hand. He'd sat back in his chair when she said she was apprenticed to Master Beggins and the Archive.

"But…I understood you were a Gryffindor" had been his response and she'd twisted the fork in her hand. Being a perfect witch was not being herself. She had to find some path through, a way to be herself and yet still fit in. It wasn't Hogwarts. Her gaze drifted to the far end of the room and over Draco's aristocratic sneer. She couldn't simply punch people now.

"Your ribbon is still white, Miss Granger."

Hermione speared a strawberry. The tines of her fork  _tinked_  against the bone china. Really? Tam had actually gone there? And she was the one who was supposed to have no breeding and social skills. She could see why Severus had little time for his fellow wizards. "Master Tam…"

"I mean, Severus Snape's  _current_  reputation—"

Her mouth thinned. Still she grabbed her chance to change the subject. "As opposed to his  _previous_  reputation?"

Tam blinked. Did he think she wouldn't defend her Mentoris? Merlin, she'd defend him regardless of the magic binding him. She always had. "I meant no offence."

She bit back on the stinging reply of "no, but much taken" and gave him a sharp nod. "I think it's best we talk of less…controversial subjects, sir."

He gave her a wide smile. "Callan."

Hermione almost groaned and, instead, forced a polite smile. They weren't as persistent as Ron. Nor as obviously sexual. Except Malfoy. But the…attention made her uncomfortable. She'd never been that sort of girl. Pretty and popular. A shudder ran through her. Man-pleasing.

"Hermione…"

Severus' smooth voice pricked her skin, his lips far-too-close to her ear, to sensitive skin that ached for his kiss, his touch. No, she'd never aimed to change herself to please a man, to act and flirt. But this  _need_  she had for Severus. The dark thought burned that she would do anything to have him satisfy it. And her.

"You're twitching." He paused and her pulse drummed. "Impatient, witch?"

Her gaze slid to him as she put down her fork. She didn't look beyond him. Not to the witch who'd bloody monopolised him through half the meal. Who he'd  _allowed_  to monopolise him. At least with him she would be herself. Sharp and prickly. "I can't possibly think what you mean, Professor."

His eyebrow rose. "Professor?" The hint of a dark smile lifted his lips. "Do you wish to play the little busy-haired know-it-all to my wicked and brooding Potions Master?" His smile deepened to a smirk and his voice was low and lined with sin. "Have you been a very naughty girl, Miss Granger?"

Her heart did not skip a beat. It didn't. Damn him. She was annoyed with him for being, being… _fooled_  by that witch. Madame Athcasta. And she wanted to deny the fierce heat in her face. But…forbidden fantasies, ones long buried from somewhere in her Sixth Year rose up, forced out by the sudden tightness of her flesh.

His hot breath seared her skin, his lips almost,  _almost_  brushing against her and she shivered. "Should I take House Points? Or does your…transgression warrant a more  _carnal_  punishment?"

Hermione had to remember to breathe. Circe's little pigs, she was supposed to be angry with him. Not this. Not wanting to drag him under the table and have her way with him. Their binding magic was exacerbating her desire and she cursed it.

"I promised you pleasure…"

She wet her parched lips, her gaze fixed on the gleaming white of the tablecloth. None of the others at the table could know how he affected her. "You did."

"Do you doubt my word?"

Her eyes snapped to him, and he was so close that his eyes were her world. Dark, endless, mesmerising. "Never, Severus."

His brows drew together, the glimmer of surprise, of...doubt there before he masked it with a cool calm. "The supper will soon break." He eased back from her, his smile reduced to little more than a lift at the corner of his mouth. "We will leave then."

Had she shocked him into a retreat? Did he think she was lying? But how could she not trust him? Keeping the course he had for so many years. Reviled. Willing to face his death, leaving only Harry knowing the truth of his life.

The wizard across from her –she'd happily forgotten his name— leered. Hermione looked away, and picked up her goblet again, letting the iced water cool the heat in her flesh. Her other hand, hidden under the drape of the white tablecloth, curled into a tight fist against her thigh. No, there'd be no other wizards for her. Her belly tightened. At the very least, until the wizarding world forgot about her wearing the ribbon.

And…perhaps it wasn't all down to magic and her admiration for Severus had slipped into something deeper. Something so much more dangerous. Especially for her obviously too-muggle heart.

She glanced at Severus' hawk-like profile, soft light gilding his pale skin and forming a bright shine against his black hair. He wasn't handsome. But there was something so…compelling about him that she simply couldn't resist. Was she being a foolish girl, caught in her first crush? It felt so much more.

No. Her heart tightened into a stone in her chest. Her decision was fixed. No other wizards. A smile tugged at her lips. After all, how did one follow a wizard like Severus Snape?

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It's a bit transition-y, but I had to cut here otherwise it'd be uber long... lol

As ever let me know what you think! :)


	23. Chapter 23

Finally, the Ball is ending. My god, this is going to be a long fic before its all finished!

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The supper-party began to break up, the little plates of silvered chocolates appearing as a final dish on every table in the sparkling room.

Hermione glanced up at the high table, a discreet look from under her lashes. Narcissa was sitting back in her chair, everything about her as imperiously beautiful as ever. Once she rose, the the supper was officially at an end. Etiquette demanded that Narcissa look to one of the other women in the room as she stood, to encourage yet more to stand.

Hermione was very aware it should be _her_ that Narcissa acknowledged. For the Lady of the House to look to Astoria Greengrass would be an incredible snub to her, a snub to tradition, a snub to the sacred role of the Ribbon and the Ring. Was she with Lucius in her disregard for tradition? Was she _happy_ for her husband to make such foul and disgusting offers to any witch he fancied?

Sourness filled Hermione. _Would_ Narcissa ignore her? No, this was one insult she wasn't ready to bear.

Her nerves tightened, her pulse jumping as her body made ready for her to stand. Severus's right hand beat out a slow, slow drum against the snowy white of the tablecloth, even as he continued on with that bloody… Madame Athcasta. Hermione looked up from his unceasing fingers and his dark gaze held a hint of mirth. Her mouth dried. She was annoyed with him, but that look... He was a totally wicked man.

Severus leaned in and the silken sweep of his hair brushed her cheek. "Anxious to be somewhere, Miss Granger?"

"Perhaps…" A smile started on her lips, but Athcasta's pale, slender hand slipped over his sleeve to pull his attention back to her. Cow. And Hermione _hated_ how witches could touch him. Shouldn't _he_ be off limits too?

"Please excuse me, Hermione." And his focus was on _her_ again.

Hermione stopped herself from pinching the bridge of her nose and went back to surreptitiously watching the high table. _There_. Astoria popped the last of the silver-wrapped bonbons into her mouth and smiled at her no doubt soon-to-be mother-in-law. Narcissa rescued her gloves from her lap…and Hermione slid her hands to her own lap, easing on the silk of _her_ gloves.

Smooth slips of her fingers pushed each glove up to her elbow…as her gaze stayed fixed on Narcissa. And there. The lean forward. The lift. Was that a slip of a look? Hermione didn't care. And it didn't matter. Narcissa Malfoy was on her feet. And so was she.

Hermione stood straight, her chin lifted. For a moment, she met the hostess's sharp blue eyes. Was that a hint of approval? But others were standing, blocking her view, so she couldn't be certain.

Severus stood, his mouth dipped to her ear. "Nicely done."

She ignored the little frisson at his touch and lifted her eyebrow. "I'm pleased you noticed."

His brows pinched together, but he eased out and pulled back her chair. He gave her a polite bow and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Hermione slipped her gloved fingers over his sleeve, a light press, as she shifted away from the table. The wizards around the table scrambled to their feet. She nodded her farewell, ignoring Athcasta's little aside about seeing Severus "very soon".

She was happy to get out. Get away.

And then the clapping started. A lone sound, but sharp and slow…until another joined it. And another. Hermione blinked as Augusta Longbottom smirked, winked and mouthed, "Tomorrow" to her.

With heat rising in Hermione's face, but with her spine straight and her fingers tight on Severus' sleeve, they wove their way out of the supper room to thunderous applause. Did Lucius Malfoy realise what a foe he had in Neville's steel-spined grandmother? Hermione was certain he was about to find out.

They moved through the twists and turns of the corridors towards the main doors, the slower exit of witches and wizards a clatter and buzz behind them. A host of house-elves stood nervously in the entrance hall and Hermione's belly twisted. Dear gods, she wanted to _leave_...

Pippy stepped forward, with Itzy at her shoulder. She dropped a bow and the rest followed in a creaking wave. "It's being our honour to serve you both. And now it's right to tell you as you go, never to come back here." The little elf gave an emphatic nod. "I knows that. To tell you that maybe now," Pippy's gleaming eyes looked to the ornate plaster of the ceiling and her brow furrowed, "perhaps now the magic will find its ease. You fed it, fed what _he_ did, Ribbon-Wearer, but now you're making it right."

"I…?"

Itzy looked to her gloved arm, the one Mad Bella had scored with her blade. Hermione's stomach turned. Her blood had spilled at Malfoy Manor. Her _virgin_ blood.

Hermione's mouth dried. Gods, had she made the horror of the magic coating this house _worse_? "I didn't know. I didn't mean…"

"We knows." And all the elves nodded hard, more than one clasping their spindly hands before them. "We cleaned the floor. Everything. No blood. And we never told. Never. We felt it…" Pippy bowed again and the rest of the elves mirrored her. "We knew."

The elves had kept her secret from their Master, even from Voldemort, protecting themselves and her.

"Knew what?"

Pippy beamed, looking from herself to Severus and back again. "Specialness."

The noise of the returning army of guests grew, echoing through the corridors. Severus looked to her. "If you wish to leave, Hermione…?"

The elves of Malfoy Manor had known. All along... She jerked a nod to the wizard at her side, pulling her thoughts from the gathering of elves. "Yes. Yes, of course." She presented a bright smile to the little creatures. "Thank you for this evening. It will always be my honour to protect you as you protected me."

An elf at the back burst into happy tears and Severus let out a slow breath. It was obviously trying his patience. So she nodded again, and accepted his discreet pull towards the opening main doors. Their carriage awaited them, thestrals stamping their feet and a strange snort of white misty breath wreathing around their skulls in the cold, night air.

Severus handed her up into the carriage, followed her and the thestrals set off at a brisk pace for the gates.

She let her head fall back against the soft padding. Over. It was over and she'd survived mostly intact. Silence hung over the warmed interior. There was none of the flirtation that marked the drive up to the house. She honestly couldn't find the energy. Too much had happened. The house itself and her past with it, twisting in a way she'd never considered. The attention of so many wizards, their looks, the obviousness of their leering thoughts. And overarching both of those, was the foulness of Lucius Malfoy, matched with the games of Madame Amelia Athcasta.

She wanted to take satisfaction –a comfort— that she was returning to the flat with Severus. Not another witch. Not his former fiancée…

"Hermione?"

After a long moment, she rolled her head to him, the soft light of the carriage gilding his sharp features. In the morning, she would wake up to that face…and a riot of conflicting emotions –a want and reluctance— warred within her. "Yes?"

"You did well tonight."

She huffed a sour laugh. "Truly? I feel as if I've been flattened by a rampaging hippogryph." A smile stayed on her mouth. "Augusta Longbottom was brilliant _..._ " She wrinkled her nose. "I think she said something about tomorrow."

"I'll floo-call in the morning. It no doubt concerns Lucius."

Hermione snorted. "Him."

"You must be careful of him."

Her gaze narrowed on the wizard beside her and her pulse spiked. Yes, the dislike, the…the jealousy surging around Madame Athcasta was forever there, bubbling just under the surface. "Not just of _him_ , Severus."

His mouth thinned. "Amelia is an old friend—"

"And this is something I should accept? In the way that Lucius Malfoy had no qualms in arranging to cheat on his wife with me?" Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. _Merlin's tits_ , she sounded as if she were his jealous lover. Not what she was. A…a short term _project_.

Severus chest lifted, anger there in his eyes, in the flush to his skin…but the carriage jerked to a holt. Hermione didn't wait for him. She dragged up the skirts of her gown and clattered to the path.

He grabbed her arm before she could half turn into her apparition. "Allow me, Miss Granger." He yanked her to him and the dark compression of his magic twisted and tugged her back to Prince Albert Mansions.

Gret was waiting for them in the hallway, but he said nothing as Hermione struggled free from Severus and kicked off her shoes. The little elf wrung his hands, his luminous eyes wide and worried. Guilt twisted her belly, but she had to get away. Find somewhere quiet. She was behaving as if Severus Snape in someway _belonged_ to her. And he wouldn't. He never could.

_My life is my own._

Those still-hated words rattled through her thoughts. She crushed them and stalking towards the stairs that would take her down to her rooms. "Goodnight."

Severus frowned at her. "Where are you going?"

"To bed."

"Yes, mine." Severus pressed his long fingers to the bridge of his nose. "As I said a moment ago, Amelia is one of my oldest friends. She knows what she did tonight was wrong and I will ask for an apology, from both herself and Tam."

She stopped at the top of the stairs not able to look at him. "I bet you'll be waiting bloody _long_ time…"

"Hermione—"

"Lucius Malfoy said he was going to fuck me!" She pressed a fist to her chest, her heart thudding. "And I quote, 'Make no mistake, _Hermione_ , when your ribbon breaks, I _will_ be the first to fuck you.' And you weren't there! _She_ did that…"

His arms were around her, strong and warm and she buried her face against the smooth silk of his robes. The familiar scent of herbs, of old parchment enfolded her and she clutched at him, even as her heart hammered. "I was so _scared_ , Severus." She swallowed, her throat tight and aching. "I couldn't do anything because he was a bloody _Malfoy_."

Damn it, his touch eased every worry and yet, strained her to breaking. Warm lips pressed to her temple and she sucked in a shuddering breath. Enough. _Enough_.

His slow smile curved against her skin. "Anything you'd normally do, such as hex him with boils and plant a fist in his face?"

A half-laugh broke from her and the tight bands around her chest eased. "Yes, exactly that. Something egregiously muggle and, or Gryffindor." She looked at him, enjoying the play of light and shadow over his face. She wanted him, all of him, so very much. "Instead, I had Augusta Longbottom. How did that—?"

"You'll get the full story tomorrow. Right now…" Severus eased his arms away and offered his hand to her. "I promised you pleasure, Ribbon-Wearer."

Hermione slid her hand into his, her fingers brushing over the warm gold of his ring. A thrum chased through her flesh and her mouth parted. All other thought simply fell away. There was only him. Just him... "Gods, Severus…"

His smile was dark and wanton and his voice… His, "Come with me" had her stumbling after him, no thought in her head but that he was _hers_. Hers in this hot, delicious moment.

He glanced at her, his eyebrow lifted. His smile was wry. "Who knew that I could still that brilliant mind of yours simply with the offer of my body?" He drew her into his bedroom and the whisper of a spell dried the tears on her cheeks. He cupped her face and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. "I will divest you of this beautiful dress, have you bare before me…"

Another kiss, a tease to her upper lip. "Would you want that?"

"Yes…" She blinked at the almost moan that escaped He was weaving a spell around her and she wanted to fall. She wanted to fall, so badly. Forget everything in him. "Please, Severus."

"How should we begin?"

Her thoughts whirled. She remembered being brazen in the library at Grimmauld Place…but that escaped her now. She'd said those words in brash ignorance. And now, the more time she spent with him, the more her body knew him, the less she could ask. She wanted everything from him…and didn't know where to start.

"Here, then, I believe would be a good place to begin."

He eased her gown from her shoulders and it pooled at her feet in a swift, warm rush of silk. A hit of nerves raced through her. Gret had insisted on a barely there set of silvery-grey silk…and the little elf had grinned cheekily at her, all too aware that the Potions Master would see her dressed so. Her fingers twitched at his silence.

Severus stepped back from her, his dark eyes warm…and his chest lifted. He let out a soft sigh and a trembling hand cupped her jaw. "Merlin, sweet girl, you are exquisite."

Hermione pressed her lips together, her heart thudding at the sudden dark turn to his smile.

"It's almost a shame to unwrap you." His eyes gleamed. "But I'll do my best."

Her breath caught. That twist of darkness in him, under the urbane and mannered wizard. Gods… She almost swayed at the power of it. "And then?"

His mouth dipped to hers again, a ghost of a kiss. "I want you very _wet_ , Miss Granger."

Oh, her mind went to such dangerous places... "Will we…?" She pressed her hand to the smooth front of his robes, the warmth of the silk there under her palm. Her pulse drummed. "Will we," the words 'make love' burned so sharply on her tongue no synonym followed, "tonight?"

"Not yet."

And that refusal pushed a groan, a curl of inchoate fury whipping through her, but his catch of a stray curl and easing it away from her forehead, broke it. His dark gaze fixed on her again and the gesture, his look scattered her feelings. Gods she _wanted_ him. Couldn't he understand that?

"I will not be rushed. You chose me. And I'm a master of timing, Hermione. Knowing when a touch, a tease, a kiss should fall…" He covered her hand with his, lifted it and pressed his lips to her palm, and skittered a flash of unexpected pleasure between her thighs. "That is the talent you expect of me. And one I'm willing to share.

"Now," he turned and drew her towards his bathroom. His smile was so, _so_ wicked. "I believe my plan is to get you very, _very_ wet…"

* * *

I'm tumbling back into this fic. I think I got it right... *gulp*

Next week: Smutty, McSmut-smut! :D


	24. Chapter 24

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So...I thought this would be 1k. Then Severus Snape started talking...and it was 1k before I even _got_ to the planned smexxy. The wizard is incorrigible!

Anyway now you have over 3000 words of most definitely M.

Enjoy!

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Hermione's heart was thudding, excitement, anticipation, the _unknown_ forcing a wild drum through her flesh and shutting down every thought but one. She wanted this. She wanted _him_. So much.

They crossed the threshold, warm carpet giving way to cool tiles. His bathroom was brightly lit, large, with a huge, glass-doored walk-in shower that dominated the room. Was she simply going to shower? Her mouth dried at the thought that he would _watch_ her…or would they shower _together_ …?

She wet parched lips. "Tell me, Severus."

A wicked little smile curved his lips. "Must I lecture for you even now, Madam?"

She ducked her head, fighting shyness and her own smile, but then she lifted her chin and fixed him with a firm stare. She couldn't waste the time she had with him, and regret any missed moments. "You know the power of your voice. In fact," and she slipped into her know-it-all persona, delighted to see the dark amusement gleam in his eyes, "I heard it said that you could easily talk a witch out of her knickers."

He lifted one of those damnable eyebrows and her breath caught in her throat. "Is that so?" He drew her forward and began to pull one of her long gloves free, slipping it slowly, so slowly over her skin. Finger by finger. "And what do I say to these witches, Hermione?" He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His voice was soft. Dangerous. "What should I say…to you?"

She closed her eyes, her flesh on fire, the need for him burning up from her belly. "That…that you want me."

"Oh I do, little witch." The silk glove dropped to the tiled floor and he began to tease away the other, his mouth at her ear, with the steady, strangely intoxicating sounds of his even breaths. "I would've had you in the summer, when I noticed you were so _willing_ …"

"Would you have crept into my room?"

"Oh…" The soft, deep sound skittered across her skin and Hermione tensed against the sudden shock of it. Of the ripple of pure pleasure that chased it. "Is that what you wanted?" The other glove dropped to the tiles. "Me in your room, with the fire dying away, leaving only a few flickers of gold and shadow…because that house is cool, even at the height of summer."

A tickle of a spell and Hermione gasped as her stockings rolled down her thighs to pool at her ankles. Another tease of obviously wandless magic, removed them completely.

"That's cheating!"

Severus huffed a laugh. "Would you rather I stopped telling you how I would slip through your wards and lock and silence your room…making _ready_? Stop detailing the ways I would have you in your virginal little bed? How I would _fuck_ you?"

Every inch of her was tight, straining. "No, no, it's fine. Carry on."

His low laugh wrapped around her, delicious and dark and he took another step closer, the warmth of his body there against her practically bare skin. She wanted _his_ skin, as she had on the previous Monday, hot and so alien against her own. Smooth and rough. Teasing her. Her gaze fixed on the snowy white collar of his shirt, the fine, black silk of his cravat…and the hint of his scars, a rush of silvered skin. Her lips ached to kiss them. Taste him.

"Will you undress?"

"There?" His smile curved against her ear. "Or _here_?"

"Anywhere…"

His fingertips stroked her waist, gliding upwards and she squeaked, caught in half torment, half pleasure. Her chest lifted and Severus brushed the underside of her breasts. A light, slow caress over the silvered silk. "I would slip into your bed naked, Hermione. And it wouldn't be a surprise…for all that you think that's your fantasy."

"What _is_ my fantasy?"

"Anticipation." The word was a delicious whisper and he smirked against her ear, before the tip of his tongue tasted her earlobe. "From breakfast, when my fingers brushed yours, our eyes meeting, your blush, my lifted eyebrow."

His hands slipped around to her back, tracing the length of her spine with slow fingers. Her bra loosened. "And the meeting in the shadowed kitchen corridor…as I step in close, as I run a finger along your jaw and you lean into my wanted touch."

The straps of her bra slipped down, falling free of her arms to the floor. "At lunch, with my thigh pressed against yours as we sit at that benighted table, thick with Gryffindors. Your face is crimson, even as your curious little fingers draw a line above my knee." Severus hands were at her hips again, thumbs drawing slow circles against her heated skin. "And finally at dinner…where you wear a sundress, with your legs so readily bare. And my hand finds your thigh." He paused, his breathing quickened, matching her own. "Can you feel my hand, Hermione? Hot, callused against your smooth skin. Sliding upwards, skimming the edge of your so-prim cotton knickers."

"Would you…?"

"What? Dip…inside?"

"Yes…" The word broke from her. Fuck, why hadn't this been her summer? A plaything for the dark Potions Master. Her knickers pooled at her feet and she blinked. "I'm…I'm naked."

Severus straightened and smirked down at her. He drew a path down from her lips to the valley between her breasts. "Aren't you just?"

Her mouth pursed and she refused to cover herself. The thrum of his words still pulsed through her flesh…and he had just proved her point. He _had_ talked her out of her knickers. She lifted her eyebrow and slid her gaze, over his long, black-clad form. "And you're not."

"I would save undressing me for…another time."

Hermione opened her mouth to object. That she should have the right to engage in a sinfully slow strip of his body…but with a murmured spell, he was revealed, naked but for his underwear. His impossibly tented underwear. Her mouth shut with snap.

She pressed her lips together to fight down her nervous giggle. "I can live with that."

A flick of his fingers turned on the sprays of the shower and he pushed back the glass door. Steam began to swirl, the warmed water splashing against her bared skin. "Are you…?" She waved her hand to the jets of water.

"I want to wash you, and offer…pleasure. Is this agreeable?"

He was a wicked, _wicked_ man. He twisted innocuous words into seven levels of sin. And she would call him on it. "If I can return the favour."

Severus dark, endless gaze fixed on her. Hot. Completely tempting. "If you are a _very_ good girl."

He guided her under the spray of perfectly warm water, Hermione gasping against the sudden burst of sensation. He stood behind her a wall of wet muscle, warm and ached for and cupped her shoulders. "I will leave you hair. I understand," he kissed the skin behind her ear and the sensitivity rippled through Hermione in a quick wave, "it is spelled to within an inch of its life."

"It is." She let her head fall back, finding the line of his shoulder. Steam wreathed around her, the rush of water against her flesh simply bliss…and with Severus at her back, his large hands skimming her arms…? It was perfection. "Can we do this every day?"

He pressed his mouth to her shoulder, a little butterfly kiss that broke a sigh from her. "You would be late for work." His dextrous fingers slid up the inner plan of her arms, teasing the edges of her breasts and she arched into his touch.

"Early." She stretched up to kiss the underside of his jaw. "I'd wake early."

His hand splayed across her décolletage, a sudden foam of soap slipping in suds over her wet skin, rivulets running over breasts to the heavy peak of her nipple. "Weekends…" His voice a low growl as he cupped her breasts and Hermione gasped. Thumbs circled her nipples, teasing inwards, closer, _closer_ to the ache… "Monday mornings as a special treat."

"Yes. Yes…please." She steadied herself with her hands on his hard, narrow hips, hating that she found material and not the wet slickness of his skin. But there, pressing into her spine was the undoubted evidence of his want. "So three times…a week?"

A soapy hand traced a path over her belly, drawing a torment around her belly button before dipping lower. Lower… Hermione's fingers tightened against his hips. He was right. Gods… Anticipation. It would kill her.

He whispered a spell against her shoulder and a familiar thrum vibrated under his fingers and against her mons. Hermione squeaked, wriggling against the sudden flood of sensation, but his strong arm held her, pinned her to the wet length of his body.

"Enjoy it." His dark voice was a rumble though her aching flesh. "Let everything else fall away. There is only you and me. Slick and hot…and _wet_." His fingers teased between her thighs and she gasped, breathing hard. Too much. It was all too much. All of him surrounding her, his skin, his fingers at her breast, kneading and plucking at a tightened nipple and yet more fingers finding…finding her clit.

She rolled against him, her hips wanting a rhythm, stretching and twisting against his hardness. He hissed against her throat. "I won't fuck you. Not yet."

"When Severus? _When_?" Her mind was spinning, the pressure coiling in her belly. Tightening. The promise of bliss. And she was almost, almost there… His fingers, thrumming, pushing, playing, knowing, gods, _knowing_ exactly, how— "Fuck, I want you inside me. Taking me. Yours. I'm yours. I want—"

She cried out against the fierce wave of hot light that smashed over her, her body straining against his firm hold, gasping as his clever, _clever_ fingers eased into gentle strokes that chased the echoes of her orgasm. "That was… That… It was…"

Nothing coherent escaped her. Her legs were jelly…and her knees buckled.

With warm laughter, Severus held her up and planted a noisy kiss on her shoulder, causing her to let out a tired giggle.

"…better than this afternoon?"

"Yes." The single word came out on a rush of air. She struggled to turn in his arms and when she had, she looped her arms around his neck and wriggled against him. She gave him a sly smile. "Was I a good girl?"

His eyes became hooded. "Hermione…"

"How can I please you?" A hand broke free to trace a path down his wet chest to the line of his underwear. Her fingers skimmed his erection and he caught her hand and held it quite still. "Severus…"

His jaw flexed. "Different wizards will—"

"I am here with you." Her voice was soft and she hated the thread of uncertainty. His tone had changed in those three words, become more Professor Snape than he'd ever been with her before. She wanted to believe that he hated the idea of her with other men as much as she did. She stretched up on her toes to brush a kiss across his parted lips. "Tell me about you."

"Through trial and error with…others you will discover what they and you prefer—"

That thought hollowed her chest. "I will discover what I like from you. Only you."

His eyes closed and a line pinched between his brows. "You can't say such things, Hermione. You must be careful. Wizards, _men_ , will take advantage…"

"This time, Severus." She pressed her hand to his jaw and his black gaze locked onto her. Something shifted there that she couldn't name. "This time is literally magical. I want no one but you. I can't imagine…" She shook her head and the image of a foul and leering Lucius ran a shiver through her. "No one, _no one_ else.

"I…I want to use my mouth on you." She knew her cheeks were burning, but she pressed on. She couldn't admit how dangerously close to commitment her heart was, but he could know this. How he was the only wizard she wanted. Would probably ever want. "So please, show me."

* * *

When had anyone begged for his body? For him? Oh, when he was buried balls deep and the witch was half-delirious, then they—

He pushed that image out of his mind, too aware of what he was doing. He was trying to diminish Hermione's request. Sully it. He summoned his wand, stretching out his arm to catch it. He cast a gentle Impervius, clearing the rivulets of water from both of their faces. Hermione grinned up at him and his chest tightened. Did she have to appear as if he'd just agreed to give her the moon? Another spell cushioned her knees. And the casting of it hollowed his belly, and fuck, he was harder than he ever remembered being…

He turned and pressed his back against the warmed tiles. "I will give you a little instruction," he murmured, not wanting to detail exactly how she should…apply herself.

Though that is what he should do as her Mentoris.

_No breathless discovery._

The words almost caught his breath. But he wanted that. He wanted her touching him in wonder as she found what _he_ liked. Her finding pleasure in that discovery…for the first time. He was a complete bastard, but he ached for all of her firsts.

"The tip of my cock"—not 'a' because that would imply that others would have her mouth on them and that thought burned a hard, angry hole in his chest—"is sensitive. Very sensitive. Tease and taste." He pressed a thumb to her plump bottom lip. "I realise this could be considered a…dare to your Gryffindor sensibilities, but you will not be able to take all of me into this lush little mouth."

Her deep blush was endearingly sweet. And he wondered to where the true Severus Snape had fled. The one who welcomed experience. Because he was gone. Completely.

She kissed the tip of his thumb, teasing her little tongue around it before she sucked his thumb into her hot mouth. He hissed. This was why. _Fuck_. His free hand grabbed her hip and he almost dragged her to him, needing to feed that fierce ache—

Hermione released his thumb. "Like that?"

"Wicked girl…"

She smirked at him. "I try."

Laughter broke and he flexed his fingers against her skin, following his urge to tease a stroke across the perfect curve of her arse. "Then, please, continue." He lifted his hands away from her. "I am at your mercy."

Her eyes darkened, her chest lifting in the most _delightful_ way, at his words. He wondered again how much was magic and how much was _her_ in her desire for him. And she did desire him. He was well aware of that…

All higher thought stopped with the press of her hot, plump lips against his collarbone, nimble fingers already edging his underwear…down.

Severus' head fell back against the tiles, the splash of water and her sweet little kisses driving a wild need through his body. He didn't close his eyes. Because —fuck— he wanted to watch her. The little crease between her brows, her focused gaze and he could almost feel the decisions rolling through her thoughts. To kiss there, at the wide flare of Buckbeak's tear through his skin. To let his underwear fall and to press her wet, naked flesh against him. Fuck. _Fuck_ …

"Hermione…"

Her name was torn from him. And the little chit grinned around his nipple. Her teeth grazed it and a fork-line of pure pleasure shot to his dick. Gods… He began to list potion ingredients. In reserve order. Shelf by shelf. Because fuck, he hadn't had sex in weeks and the tormenting witch who had him at her mercy was so…wanted.

She lapped at his belly button, before dropping gracefully to her knees. Severus stared down at her. Those plump lips were so fucking close to his cock. He had to rein in the very real need to fist his hand in her hair and drive himself into that hot, wet mouth.

She lifted an eyebrow, her little smirk deliciously wicked. "Are you ready, Master Snape?"

Oh, _fuck_ … He almost slammed his head back against the wall. "Yes…"

The first shy lick was lava in his veins. More potions ingredients sailed through his thoughts in a thick tide. Fuck, now he was even _spelling them_ backwards. Her mouth, her fingers, the stroking, the licking, _seeing_ his cock slid between her lips, the hot, wetness and the humming…

"Hermione…" His trembling fingers touched her hair, fighting the very real need to grab the tamed mass. His body was tight. So tight. His balls aching. He was ready. Ready… "Hermione! I'm going to— You'll want to pull back. Sweet girl. Please—"

And then he came, hard and fast, a blistering rush of fire and light, breaking over him. Breaking him. And the mad little witch. Swallowed him. Drank him down. Gods…

His knees gave out. Her mouth was gone. And he slumped to the floor of the shower.

He pulled her to him, luxuriating in the feel of a hot, wet, naked little witch in his arm. He buried his face against her neck, his breaths still hard and quick. "Wonderful. Gods, girl…" he huffed a tired laugh. "Did I say three times a week? I'll be fit for nothing."

She framed his face with her wet hands. Her beautiful eyes were uncertain. "You enjoyed it? I didn't have your vibrating spell so I thought humming would achieve-"

"Hermione…" The kiss he gave her was soft, dangerously so as he felt a hard tug in his chest. The taste of _him_ on her lips almost had him hard again. And the thought that another wizard would have the same experience made that fierce pull in his chest more of a bitter ache. "It…you were _wonderful_."

She licked her lips. "Interesting taste. And you don't mind…?"

Hermione kissed him again and he groaned. "Not for one second. I want the taste of me on you."

That led to her bright grin and another wild kiss…and yes, he was most definitely getting hard. Best to get out of the shower before he broke his vow and fucked her on a hard, tile floor.

He drew back. "Let's get you dry." His smile was deliberately smug. "I'm far from finished with you yet."

* * *

A little more of Hermione's...instruction next week.

Oh and I also went back and tidied Chapter 23. There were an egregious amount of silly errors. Sorry about that!

Anyway, let me know what you think!


	25. Chapter 25

As a part of this particular day - 2 May - I will remain quite happily in denial about a certain Potions Master by adding to this fic ;-)

* * *

Severus took her hand and led her from the bathroom, her skin warm and tingling from the very thorough drying to which he had subjected her.

She didn't doubt her cheeks were bright pink. She'd just fellat… She'd just sucked…

Hermione bit her lip. Some witch of the world she was turning out to be, when she couldn't even form the words in her mind. But then, that was what this time was about, wasn't it? To provide the experience to turn her into the mature, cultured witch who would slip through wizarding society with the stream-lined ferocity of a great white shark…

She wanted that power for herself. She did. But —her gaze slid over the gilded, and very  _naked_ , beauty of the wizard before her— that cultured witch would never have this again.

This blissful little bubble of time with  _this_  wizard.

She shoved down the hollow ache, one that seemed to grow everyday now with knowledge that this was all…finite. She hadn't lied to herself. It was hardening into a solid fact. There would be  _no one_  after him.

"Hermione?"

Severus' voice was a velvet rumble in the shadowy room and she pulled her thoughts back. Her lips twitched into a smile. "You will have to teach me that vibrating spell, you know."

"Perhaps."

A finger drew a slow line under her bottom lip and she eased in a breath, parting her lips at the rush of heat the simple touch chased through her flesh.

"As a…reward." His black eyes gleamed and Hermione couldn't help but take a step closer to him, the warmth of his body flowing over her own. Her belly tightened. Merlin, she  _wanted_  him. In every way.

His mouth dipped to hers, his breath teasing her lips. "Oh and I will make you  _work_  for it, Miss Granger."

 _Gods…_ "Yes, yes please."

His eyes glittered. "Such an  _eager_  little witch."

Severus Snape was a wicked man. He truly was.

"Now…"

He drew his fingers down her arm, his touch…magical, and took her other hand. As he pulled her back to the dark mass of the bed, her heart was in her throat. He had more plans for her. Giving her the chance to lose herself in the bliss of his touch, his mouth, his fingers, the slide of all that hot, bare skin against her own… And that thought almost dizzied her.

"You've tasted me." His sly, black gaze slid down her bare body and it was suddenly so very hard to breathe. He wet his lips —a deliberate lick— and a hard throb of desire rocked her. "I do believe the…favour should be returned."

Hermione blinked. The hurried whispers through the dormitories had always hinted at this…and how few girls could ever get their boyfriends to agree. Her belly twisted. Was it just a favour? Something he wanted to get out of the way as a part of her introduction as a ribboned-witch.

Severus stilled. "This bothers you?"

"You…you don't have to do it, Severus. I know that…" Hermione shrugged and hated that she was still so gauche. She gritted her teeth. " _Cunnilingus_." She snapped out the word. "You aren't obligated—"

"Obligated?" He shook his head, his long, black hair flicking against his shoulders. "Pleasure is  _shared_ , little witch."

The endearment caught her breath.

He pulled her too him, the warm, naked stretch of his skin covering hers from thigh to breast. His mouth ghosted over her ear and she shivered against him.

"I want my mouth on your sweet cunt. To lick, to nibble, to revel in your wanton desire. To taste how wet I can make you. To tease your little clit until you beg me to let you come. And you  _will_  come, sweet girl." His nose caressed the heated shell of her ear and there was a sharp grin to his next words. "This nose does have its uses, after all."

His voice was low and deliciously wicked, a fire through her flesh, till she could hardly string a thought together. "Yes, Severus. I never thought…"

"I am here to fulfil  _all_  of your darkest desires."

She clutched at him then, not able to stop the wanton little moan that broke from her. And his cock was a steel length against her belly. He did, he wanted this with her.

Hermione swallowed, her head pressed to the sharpness of his collarbone. She would have everything she could from him until her ribbon fell away.  _Everything_. "Then who am I to stop you?"

His laughter huffed against her hair. "On to the bed with you, cheeky girl."

Hermione pulled herself away from him, missing the joy of his skin, even if she would have him again in moments. His eyes gleamed as he watched her and it really was…addictive being at the centre of his dark focus.

"When can I have you, Severus?"

The question broke from her and mortification burned in her face.

He cupped her cheek in his large hand, the warmth of his ring a delicious tingle against her skin. She pressed into her touch, eager for more of it.  _Eager and easy_ , that's exactly what she was.

"New Year's Eve," he murmured.

"That's almost a  _fortnight_  away—"

"Is it?" He urged her onto soft sheets, following her down, the caress of his body over hers scattering her protest. "Then we must find something with which to pass the time, mustn't we?"

"I…" Damp hair brushed under her jaw, his sure lips already teasing a line over her collarbone. She turned into his touch, caught in bliss as his hot and so very  _talented_  mouth chased kisses over the swell of her breasts. Her ache for him deepened.

How was she going to last the night, never mind twelve whole  _days_?

A gasp broke from her as his teeth grazed her nipple.

"So sweet," he murmured.

Dark eyes fixed on her, the edge of light caught there, gleaming, beautiful. His hand caressed the shape of her, over her ribs, her waist, her hips and the warmth of his Ring swept a hot line of wild joy through her already straining flesh.

She mewled. "Gods, Severus,  _please_ …" She bit her lip, her face hot and her need flaring. He said she'd beg. But in that moment, she didn't care. The simplest of his touches was…overwhelming.

He smirked against the underside of her breast. And it  _was_  a smirk. Bastard. "Such a naughty girl." The wet, silken strands of his hair flowed across her stomach as he inched lower…lower… "Begging a dark wizard to taste you." His tongue teased across her navel and she jerked, her fingers fisting the sheets at the sudden shock of pleasure. "To  _eat_  you."

Severus mouth pressed insanely light kisses to her mons, his large hands a torment to her thighs. His thumbs teased over the crease, easing her legs apart, even as she twitched and rolled her hips, wanting more. Wanting the full hard pressure of his mouth. Of that fucking  _glorious_  nose—

His laughter caught her breath and she bit hard at her lip. "Please, Severus. Do… _something_."

There had been dry tomes and lurid  _Witch Weekly_  articles for research, but in this moment, with the wizard she ached for between her thighs, his hot breath a torment, what could she ask for?

" _Make me never forget you_."

The words broke from her. Desperate. Pleading. And she couldn't care what he would take from them. Not with his tongue quick and hot, slicking through her, finding, finding—

Hard hands pinned her, denying her the twist into and away from his feasting mouth. And that nose. Just…right. Driving a white hot-fire through her veins.

How did anyone do this…after? After the ribbon. How  _could_  they? The joy and heat and raw, sweet pleasure that built with every flick, and kiss and rub. Of lips, and tongue, and teeth and—

Her spine was a bow. Taut. Holding here there, teetering, on the wild edge of her release.

Then he—

Hermione screamed. Joy smashed through her in a golden riot, her body shaking, hands tearing at the sheets. "I  _love_  your nose.  _Love it_."

She found herself wrapped in his arms, his still-hungry month taking hers. He tasted of her, a sweet muskiness that caught the fading echoes of her release. She arched under him, the hard length of him—there, gods,  _there_ —against her hip…

If he would only… Just a turn. A slip. Mere inches from where she  _ached_  to have him…

" _Wicked_  girl." It was a growl against her lips and Severus eased one of her hands free, guiding it down his hot skin, between them…to the deliciously hot steel of his cock. " _Lenis motus_."

The spell hummed through her fingers and Severus sucked in a sharp breath. Endless eyes held hers. Need and desire  _burned_  there. His voice was a silken rumble as he murmured, "I am once again at your…mercy."

Hermione drew in a breath, her mouth parched. She licked her dried lips and his hot gaze darted there. Her heart drummed…and she drew her thumb over the sensitive head, stilling as he did. "Should I show you none?"

* * *

Why had he said a fortnight?  _Why_?

Because he was a fucking idiotic masochist.

But…he wanted to draw out her anticipation. Make her ache. Make her look back on her time with him and find it…unparalleled.

_Make me never forget you._

That. Just…that. And some part of him—some long-denied secret part of him—wanted her first time to be…special. Not the reaction to Lucius fucking Malfoy and his attempt to claim  _his_  witch.

Severus' lips brushed hers and his fingers teased a line down the inner plane of her arm.  _Her_  fingers tightened around his cock and he hissed in a breath. Fucking spell would have him coming like an untried boy…but shit, it made him want to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

Her slender fingers wrapped around a cock so hard it was a wonder there was any blood left in any other part of his body. The brush of her trembling skin against his, the taste of her there still rich on his tongue… It was a tormenting bliss. " _Fuck_ , Hermione… Make me not forget you, either."

It was an insane admission, but he didn't care.

Not when her mouth took his, hot and eager and the quick strokes of her thrumming hand surged through his body. Even after the best blowjob he could remember, he was close, so close...

"Come for me, Severus Snape."

And he did. A white hot shock of joy, as if her siren-voice had been training him for years.

He huffed a laugh against her mouth and murmured a cleaning spell. "It's too late for another shower."

"Tomorrow is Sunday… Well, today, now."

Severus brushed back the sweaty curls from her face. She was pink-cheeked. More than her cheeks. Her deep, orgasmic flush chased all the way down to her breast bone. He smirked at her. "So, it is."

She pressed her lips together, and the little swot expression grew. Hermione Granger was so very…readable. And there was a niggle of regret that her openness would fade, would wither as she became more…worldly.

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Can I sleep with you? Here? Every night?"

The question came out in a hot rush and she dipped her face to his chest.

Severus wrapped himself around her, a pale dragon around his horded gold. It would be a mistake. A monumental mistake. He couldn't have her in his bed. The temptation of skin, of pleasure, of making her arch against him and gasp her release…

And the other side. The even more dangerous familiarity. Of the inconsequential chatter as the lights went out. The nights she was lost to some dry tome before he threw it to the floor—inciting her outraged gasp—and ordering her to sleep. Of curling around her just like he was now in a tangle of sated limbs and bare skin and easing into dreams unbearably sweetened by her presence…

No, this witch in his bed would only make everything so much more…difficult when the ribbon fell free.

And the proof would be there—glaring at his battered heart—that her attraction was all down to the magic of the Ribbon and the Ring.

Severus pressed a kiss to the tangle of her hair. The sweet scent of her, the lingering hints of vanilla, of sweat and the heady mix of their bodies was almost dizzying—

"Yes. Every night."

Severus closed his eyes. _Fuck_.

* * *

Let me know what you think! :)


	26. Chapter 26

* * *

I know, two fic updates in one day. We're in feast over famine mode again ;-)

This is a bit transition-y and probably overly fluffy...but I'm in that sort of a mode. *shrug*

* * *

Hermione glared at the execrable 'Society Pages' of _The Daily Prophet_. "Nothing about Malfoy." She ground her teeth in a way her parents would not approve. "Nothing. No hint of it."

She poured Severus his tea as he sat at the breakfast table, Gret bustling around with various breakfast dishes. Severus murmured his thanks, sat opposite to her and inhaled his first cup of the day.

Morning light from the magical windows limned the hard perfection of his face. And Hermione focused back on her toast at the sudden flare of recent memory. The one that jumped her pulse. Severus caught under the shower, his long body slick and wet, head thrown back, every muscle taut with the pleasure that wracked him as she took him into her mouth.

Merlin, she could still taste him…

A thrum of want chased up through her flesh and she stopped herself from wriggling in her chair. He was an addiction. He really was.

_Make me not forget you._

Another five words that steamrollered through her thoughts. His words. Almost a mirror of her own. Severus wanted to remember this special time as much as she did.

"The Malfoy name is ascending."

Hermione looked up, dragging her mind from the fate that awaited them. The ending of their binding magic. She didn't have to force her sneer, a mix of her upset and Malfoy loathing. She was sure it was something worthy of the Potions Master himself. "I thought they never dropped below supreme power?"

He narrowed his gaze, a hint of amused censure lurking there. "It's returning to its _former_ glory. But," Severus held up a hand as she huffed a sour breath, "his embarrassment was physically witnessed by his peers. He can't scrub that away." His smile was wry. "Not anymore, anyway."

"How? How can they have his power?" She buttered her toast, quick and angry. "Following Voldemort put him in Azkaban. Twice. At the last battle, he looked, he looked…broken. And why—if his loathsome family is so preeminent—would he follow old Snake Face in the first place?"

Severus ran his thumb over his sleeve and the inner plane of his left arm. His dark eyes were thoughtful. "Tom Riddle marked Lucius as his equal. The offer to share in incredible power." He snorted. "In the beginning we were all…equals. Knights, bound to each other, destined to conquer death." He drew in a long breath and shook his head. "Or so we were led to believe. The Dark Mark made us his slaves. And until he was dead, we could never be free."

Hermione bit her lip, fighting back the plethora of questions that burned on her tongue. That he would share this much with her—so secret a part of himself—felt like the greatest of gifts—

A flash of green fire flared over the fireplace and Severus jerked to his feet, his wand aimed.

"Augusta." He looked to the clock on the mantle. "Exactly on time." His dark eyes slid to Hermione and she could almost read his thoughts. It made her face hot. Yes, they had spent _far_ too long in the shower.

Severus lifted the wards and offered his hand as Augusta stepped through. She cast a gimlet eye around the more informal breakfast room and unpinned her raven-feather hat. Severus helped her to remove her long cloak. A swirl of elf magic swept both away and she huffed a breath.

"I do appreciate a scrupulously clean fireplace, Severus. Compliments to your house-elf."

There was a squeak from the doorway and Gret wrung his long hands, his gleaming eyes wide and glistening. With a faint pop, he disappeared.

"It's rather late for breakfast." Augusta frowned at the table, before her see-everything gaze flicked between them. Hermione was certain her face was even more pink. Another aspect of herself to work on, obviously. "But then it is Sunday. And some of us have had a hard working week."

Severus huffed a soft laugh and pulled out a chair for her beside Hermione. "Is that an unsubtle hint, Augusta? Am I a man of too much leisure?"

She pursed her lips in a mock affront. "Why would you think that? I do not have your sly and cunning nature, Severus Snape."

He snorted in reply. "Tea?"

"Yes. No milk. Four sugars." Augusta flicked her fingers and her obnoxiously red bag slipped under the table to hang itself beside one of the carved legs. Cautiously, she sipped at her tea, let out a breath and placed it back in its saucer. "You did very well last night, Hermione. Lucius Malfoy is a blight. I loathe the man. It was my great pleasure to mock him."

Hermione winced the memory of his words itching over her skin. She pushed down a shudder. "But what can we do to stop him?" Her lips pressed together. "Another witch has already agreed to wear the ribbon. Will he…pursue her too?"

"My coven, as of today, has decided to take a greater interest in social gatherings." Augusta helped herself to a muffin, slathering it in butter. "We are witches in our prime, after all. We have power and the will to wield it."

There was a spark to Augusta's dark eyes and the great beauty she'd held in her youth became obvious. "Also, I believe there is a revived interest in history of the Ribbon and the Ring. I will share the story of my own Family, the Shafiqs. Many a Shafiq has worn the Ring." She looked to Severus. "We are related, I believe?"

Severus inclined his head, a smile playing about his lips. "Distantly. My mother's great uncle was Adiran Shafiq. He wore the Ring for a number of wizards."

Hermione frowned as dates pushed through her thoughts. Augusta Longbottom's son Frank was almost the same age as Lucius. Had Abraxas Malfoy demanded a _married_ witch for his son? "But, Lady Augusta, your husband…"

"I was a widow when that Lucius…creature drew close to being of age." Her lips pressed together in a thin line. "It's always an honour to be asked and I saw in him his inchoate foulness. I thought that he needed the hand of a firm witch. His father simply wanted the cache of a Shafiq Mentoris. It's a Malfoy tradition, you know." She picked up her cup again. "My sons were at Hogwarts, or making their own way. And it is perfectly respectable for a widow or widower to act as either Magister or Mentoris."

A twitch of a smile lifted her mouth. "Preferable. As long as the spouse did not die at their own hand."

Hermione bit her lip to deny a smirk.

"No, a Hufflepuff girl saved him from my very _firm_ hand." Augusta left out a long breath and stared into her cup. She put it back into its saucer. Her voice grew soft. "And the world might have been wholly different if I'd put a ribbon to his throat."

"Lucius Malfoy is rotten to the core." Severus voice was low and sure in the following silence. "Nothing and no one could have curbed his wickedness. Believe me, Augusta."

The elderly with nodded, something slow and sad and Hermione reached out to cover her hand. She gave it a light squeeze.

Augusta straightened in her chair, her chin lifting and she bestowed a stronger smile on Hermione. "So there will be a legion of fierce witches ensuring that Lord Malfoy—and his spawn—do not see it as their foul _droit du seigneur_ to force The Card of any witch."

"We'll make their lives hell." Augusta's smile transformed into a wicked smirk. "Merlin, it'll be _fun_."

* * *

Severus's gaze slid up from his book to watch Hermione squirm in the deep, wingback chair beside his own. And recross her legs. And bite her lip in that deliciously naive way that made his dick twitch. "A witch should never be afraid to ask for what she wants, Hermione."

She flushed that becoming pink that tightened his flesh. So much for being a wizard who demanded experience. Her innocence was addictive. "It's Sunday afternoon."

He glanced to the darkening window of the library, the room lit only by the golden light in the hearth and a few, scattered candles. He nodded and his mouth quirked upwards. "Yes, I believe it is."

"I know that last Sunday we _shopped_."

Hermione bit out the word, obviously finding it distasteful. Amelia had contributed to her dislike. He would have to speak to his former-fiancée. His gut soured. He owed her more than he could ever repay…but she could not come between his obligation to the Ribbon and the Ring.

"And today we were waiting on Augusta, but I don't want you to think that you have to…entertain me."

They were sitting quietly in the warm library, the only easing sounds being the crack and pop of the fire and the steady turn of pages. Gret had brewed a rather fine pot of tea and perfect little sandwiches and sweet nibbles sat on a tiered plate between their ridiculously comfortable chairs. It was a shot of bibliophile bliss.

Severus frowned. Did she not think so?

"Every Sunday since we were…incarcerated in Grimmauld Place, you've spent the day brewing."

He had. Putting the Ribbon on her and then the mad whirl of his time chasing after balls and dinners…and wanting to wrap himself around her and keep her from the world, had put brewing far, _far_ from his thoughts.

And he had a rather interesting potion from a twelfth century alchemical treatise under stasis at the Mutt's pestilential hole.

It hit him then. She knew his schedule. And that fact pressed into his chest, a warm ache that tugged at his thoughts. The pleasure of it…and the knowledge that any interest she had in him was only inflated by the magic that bound them. As his was for her.

He drew in a breath and pushed the pain of that thought behind the icy shield of occulumency.

"Usually, yes."

"I…" She pressed her lips together. "I don't want to keep you from it. From your work."

_Ah_... There, in the round about way of hers, was the true meaning. Her real question. It wasn't something carnal. That was a shame... And—surprisingly—it wasn't. "Ask me, Hermione."

She closed her eyes. Did she expect _Professor_ Snape? Snarly. Cantankerous. A wizard who would brow beat her and deny her intelligence and skill? The seconds ticking away her silence proved him right.

"Hermione…"

Words burst from her. "You're brilliant, Severus. Truly. And I want, I would _like_ to have the opportunity to see you work. Unencumbered by dunderheads."

She stared at him, her face strained, her body tight. Braced for his backlash.

Severus wanted nothing more than to pull her onto his lap and wrap himself around her. Offer comfort and reassurance…but it was a selfish need that made him want to tuck her under his chin. That was not in the purview of a Mentoris. Instead, he stood and offered her his hand.

Her small fingers curled into his without hesitation. "If you so wish," he allowed silk to wrap around his voice and delighted in the warmth to her cheeks, "I have a full, twelfth century copy of _Alchamia_ —"

Her gasp broke his explanation. "In Latin? From Al-Razi?"

"Just so."

"Oh…" Her brown eyes shone and it was as if he'd gifted her the most precious of jewels. "May I…?" She pressed her lips into a thin line again, obviously unsure what she could ask of him.

"Hermione." He allowed himself to brush her cheek and his chest hollowed as she leant into his light touch. " _You_ are brilliant. I will be happy to share my…experiments, my knowledge with you." His smile was wry. "There are no masks now. No games to play." He brushed a kiss to her forehead and almost groaned at the loose display of his increasing affection. "I will happily cater to my insufferable know-it-all."

There was a squeak before she flung herself into his arms, peppering kisses to his throat and squeezing him harder than Devil's Snare.

And if he tucked her under his chin…?

Well, that was simply their difference in height.

* * *

I hope to update again at the end of next week

I'm also thinking of a one-shot called _Augusta's Big Night Out_. That'll be a while off yet. But I think it'd be fun!


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